


Push, Pull

by AlamoGirl80



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-25
Updated: 2004-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoGirl80/pseuds/AlamoGirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly terrifying serial killer's case, Alex is vulnerable to the horrors that can only come from the mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Law and Order franchise, the characters or plots contained therein. I'm only borrowing for entertainment, not profit. I hope that appeases Dick Wolf's gaggle of scary lawyers.
> 
> A/N: This is unbetaed and cross-posted at fanfiction.net Please excuse the horrid mistakes. Warnings for violence and language and a thick fog of angst! Enjoy!

**~Chapter 1~**

 

“They were all so beautiful,…delicate…like flower petals.”

Simon Verger sat in the interrogation room on the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza. His ice-blue eyes focused in front of him, never blinking, just focused. He was calm, his fingers never fidgeted, his weight never shifted in the chair. He never gave off any of the tell-tale signals of a guilty suspect squirming under the intense scrutiny of New York’s most enigmatic detective. And that made her very uneasy.

 

Verger wasn’t all that extraordinary in appearance. He was of average height, maybe six feet at most, she guessed. Taking into account his wiry lean musculature, thin craning neck, long spindly fingers, dark greasy hair and deathly cold eyes, Simon almost cut a comical image. The perfect countenance of an evil Icabod Crane.  This might have even been a little funny to her, had she not seen what he’d done to his seven victims.

Evil Icabod liked to capture young women, using chloroform, and take them back to his basement lab, in an abandoned building near the garment district. Once there, he tortured, raped, and mutilated his “little flowers”. Verger seemed to have a particular fascination with the victim’s reproductive organs, as he would begin to dissect them, while they were still alive. He kept his souvenirs, the women’s genitalia and organs, in various jars in his apartment. The crime scenes had sent more than a few uniforms outside to vomit, some were hardened detectives who’d been on the force for years.

Just goes to show you, humans are capable of doing anything to anyone. No amount of training can prepare a soul for some things. 

Detective Alex Eames had seen some of the horrible, most deplorable acts humans can inflict on each other in her years on the force. Since she had come to the Major Case squad three years ago, she had even been a witness into the minds of the killers, dissecting their motives. It could be quite a mind-fucking experience.

Luckily for Eames’ psyche,  the brunt of the effects of these mind-trippin’, soul-raping spelunking expeditions into the caverns of killer’s minds was absorbed by her partner. Detective Robert Goren could see into the mind of a person like looking through a pane of glass. He never seemed to be afraid of what he’d find in those expeditions, even if the results were often at the expense of his own shredded and worn soul. Eames often ached for him when she watched his gift of perception into the most horrible human minds, become his curse, leaving him ragged, battered and emotionally bludgeoned.

But today, with Verger a foot from her, staring into her eyes and freezing her soul with fear, she welcomed the large shadow that loomed behind her. It moved up behind her, shadowing her entire figure.

“You dissected 7 women alive Simon, you…you took great care in your…work. Why.. uh… why these women Simon? What was it about them…” Goren asked, his voice was quiet, but it didn’t belie the deadly seriousness of his questions. Sometimes the more quiet the voice, the scarier one could become. It often worked better than raising the voice to bully a point across. Goren’s sheer size, soul-piercing stare, coupled with his quietly intense voice, was more than enough to make an impact. Verger never moved his gaze from Eames.

“They called to me, they wanted me. I had to ‘know’ them. They has such a loneliness in their eyes,… it called to me.” Verger licked his lips. Eames couldn’t tear her eyes from him, even as her breath slowed in her chest to a stop. “I see the same calling…in your partner’s eyes. So beautiful, so sad…I’ve seen it for a while now… if only I could..” Verger was moving across the table, Eames saw it, but it was like watching the scene through thick tar. It was in slow motion, and she still hadn’t taken a breath.

 

Suddenly, a huge hand slammed down between Verger and Eames, inches from his face. Verger instinctively jumped backward, landing hard back in his seat.  Eames’ breath came out, low and shuddering, and she gasped in the much-needed air as her partner’s massive frame came between her and Verger, breaking their eye contact.

“They weren’t calling you Simon! They were going about their business, and you were stalking them. You saw… what you wanted to see.” Goren leaned down to mere inches from Verger’s nose, searing into his thoughts, dark eyes meeting ice blue.

“Seven women, seven lives you stole. But you got sloppy Simon. You left some DNA on your last victim. I guess you couldn’t hold it in your pants that time cause we found some semen. Maybe you should spank your monkey at home, like every other guy, and not with the bodies at a crime scene.” Goren’s voice was now only just above a whisper. Verger’s eyes were rimmed with red, and he was shaking with rage.

Verger exploded out of the chair with a snarl. His eyes had shifted at the last moment to focus of Eames again. She was sucking in shuddering breaths, her eyes still on Verger as Goren taunted him. As he flew at her, she jumped backward toward the wall, stumbling over her chair, and desperately tried to muffle the scream that had started to escape her throat. But she needn’t have bothered. Detective Goren’s stature is almost as legendary as his skilled at deduction.

Six foot four, with massive shoulders and muscular arms, Goren towered over most suspects. But as Verger launched himself in a fury at his partner, Robert Goren, it seemed, grew an extra five inches, his shoulders seemed to swell an extra few inches wider. Verger rammed into one of Goren’s now behemoth-sized shoulders with a little whimper.

 “SIT DOWN!” Goren bellowed. With what seemed like little effort, Goren flung Verger against the wall with a satisfying smack. If Eames could have seen Goren’s eyes, she as well as anyone else would have shrunk into the smallest hole somewhere and pissed all over themselves. Verger was seeing those eyes now, and they were having the same effect of him. Goren’s eyes fairly seethed with fury, hatred, and above all possessive protectiveness. He was protective of the petite woman, who now was pressed up against the far wall, trying shield herself from the waves of blatant fury and strength that were rolling off her beast of a partner and consuming the room.

Verger was now creating a sickly-yellow pool of piss around himself as Goren leaned his muscular forearm into the back of Verger’s neck, as he held him against the wall.

Before the uniforms burst into the room, Goren whispered in Verger’s ear, “If you ever…even think about my partner again,…I’ll save the state the cost of executing you. They won’t be able to find enough pieces of you left to tell what happened.”

Eames stumbled out of the interrogation room. Her chest ached from holding her breath, and her mind was reeling. Verger had some how, been able to get into her head, without her knowing it. This case had hit her hard from the start. The women were all found with their eyes open. Goren was always saying ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’, and Alex saw a pleading in those women’s eyes. They were pleading, screaming for help, she could hear them even though their dead lips never moved. It was disconcerting to say the leased, to hear blood-curdling screams for help for a dead girl at a crime scene.

Alex had been trying to chalk it up to lack of sleep, “ I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep,” she’d said.

Yeah, right,… bullshit. She hadn’t slept through the night since the first victim, and now she’d been face to face with Verger. He was in her head, and Alex felt very violated. This was not a feeling she was used to, and it really pissed her off. She headed back to her desk to gather up the files Carver would need when a large solid hand came to rest on her shoulder. Her breath faltered again, heart rate sped up, and all she wanted to do was run like hell.

“Are you ok Alex?”, came a soft question from a familiar place high over her right shoulder. Bobby had turned to Alex in the interrogation room after they had cuffed Verger, to make sure she was safe. Making sure she was safe was becoming an instinct to Bobby, he’d noticed. It was as natural as breathing, which he now saw Alex was having trouble doing. He felt it through her shoulder, trembling up through the fabric of her jacket, into his fingers, and heading straight for his heart.

Fear. Unbridled, breath-freezing, heart-stopping fear. Bobby’s heart clenched in his chest, as the thought entered his famously intuitive brain, that perhaps he was the cause of her fear. Maybe he had finally gone too far in an interrogation, and really scared his partner. He slowly tried to turn her around; he had to see her eyes to know for sure.

Alex felt the terror in her subside somewhat when she realized who was behind her. But even though she had always trusted Bobby with her life, and she had never before feared to hold the gaze of the famous Detective Goren, she didn’t want him to see what was in her eyes right now. She didn’t want him to see what Verger had done to her inside.

TBC…

 


	2. 2

Fear was not an emotion that suited Alex Eames. She hated it. It seemed to crawl across her skin, thick, slimy, and cold like bathing in black tar. It was a dangerous emotion, one that could make a detective freeze up at the wrong time and cost them the life of their partner. Eames had been afraid plenty of times, but she’d always controlled it, beat it back down so she could do her job. She owed her partner that strength, God knows, he’d saved her ass plenty of times.

“I’m fine, it just got a little… close in there.” Alex said as she pulled herself away from Bobby’s grasp. “At lease he won’t be able to play ‘Bad Doctor’ with anyone else, unless he picks himself up a ‘girl friend’ on the inside. Then he’ll probably be on the “receiving end” of the doctoring.” ‘There,…’ she thought, ‘just take in my usual smart-ass comments, realize I’m OK, and keep on moving Bobby. Please, for the love of God, …

Bobby twitched a small smile at her comment. Alex’s sardonic wit even in the gravest situations was a grounding element to Bobby. He’s come to expect it. But this time, he wasn’t comforted by her comment.

“Yeah,…wouldn’t want him to be lonely on Death Row,” Bobby replied. He bent slightly, cocking his head to the side, his typical stance when he wanted to catch her eyes. Alex however, has slipped away from him to her desk, and was quickly gathering files to take to Deakins’ office. He sighed as he moved to his desk, across from Alex, still watching her…studying her actually. ‘Something’s really wrong here,’ he thought, ‘She usually smiles at me when she makes one of her witty remarks. She’s dodging me, avoiding my gaze,… and now…now she looks like she’s about to bolt out of here like her ass is on fire.’ Bobby’s concern was growing by leaps and bounds now. Was she mad at him? Did he over-step his bounds in the interrogation, should he have let her handle herself? ‘Hell No!’ Alex twitched her head toward Bobby, he gulped. ‘ Shit, did I say that out loud??’ he thought. There was no way in hell he would have left her alone with Verger. He’d seen it in her eyes…at the crime scenes…the pain, sympathy for the victims. Actually, Bobby had never seen Alex feel so much for the victims. And it tore at his heart to see the anguish in her eyes every time a call came in that another of Verger’s victims had been found.

“I’m taking these to Deakins, then I’m calling it a night.” He voice was soft, but it still jolted Bobby from his own thoughts.

He stood, “ Alex…I…Do you…”

“See you tomorrow Bobby,” she cut him off  as she strode to Deakins’ office. There was no way she was going to hang around to get analyzed by Goren. She had enough people inside her mind without Goren seeping in.

Bobby watched her leave. She’d already grabbed her coat and purse with the files, and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to help her on with her coat. He ALWAYS did that.

_‘Damn it Bobby, you can be such a stuttering dumb-ass sometimes,_’ he berated himself.  Helping Alex on with her coat was a ritual Bobby had come to relish. It was about the only time in the day, when they weren’t bent over files together, that he could savor being close to her.

_ ‘Almost putting my arms around her, her back up against me…so close… breathing her in,…God she smells so good in the morning… Stop it! Snap out of it Goren!_’ He shook his head and sighed. His body was starting to react to the rant his mind went off on, and walking out of the office with a hard-on would be * hard * to explain.

_‘Now is not the time for those thoughts,…which by the way genius, you should not be having anyway. She’s your partner, o-“frustrated”-one._’ Bobby frowned, sometimes he really, REALLY hated his little voice of reason chirping on his shoulder.

‘_Man, you need to get laid in the worst way_,’ chortled the little voice.

‘_Blow me_,’ Bobby thought to the voice. He ran his large hand over his face and glanced back to the door. “What’s going on Eames, talk to me,” he muttered.

 --------------------------

 The wind whipped around Alex’s coat, sending the fall chill right to her bones. God, New York can be one cold, you-may-want-comfort-but-shit-on-you kind of city sometimes. Alex made her way up to her apartment, feeling the kind of exhaustion, physical and mental, that she hadn’t felt since giving birth to her nephew.

Once inside, she checked her messages, only a couple from her family wondering how she was doing, nothing new. She peeled her clothes off, and stood gazing at herself in the mirror. Staring at herself, naked in the mirror, was not something Alex usually did. She ran a hand over her face, letter her eyes fall over her body. She looked haggard. No sleep, little food, and an emotionally raping case had caused her to loose weight and make her face look drawn. The circles under eyes may have well been bruises, they were so dark.

“You look like shit, Alex,” she said to herself. She pulled on some sweats and a oversized sweat shirt and headed into her living room, flipping the TV on. She rummaged around in the kitchen, maybe some hot tea would settle her. The case was over, Verger was on his way to the needle, maybe she could finally sleep.

She walked back to her couch, picking up the remote. “There’s got to be something on,” Alex muttered as she flipped the channels. Her mind wandered back to the interrogation room. She’d never seen Bobby snap like that in the precinct. Animated, yes. In-your-face, defiantly. But, snapped to the point of physically growing into a frightening behemoth? Something in Alex warmed a little, as she knew he was protecting her. He’s always been her protector, even when he tries so hard not to make it obvious to her, for fear she would resent him for thinking she couldn’t take care of herself.

‘Chivalry is defiantly not dead in Bobby Goren,’ Alex thought to herself. Suddenly, a vaguely familiar voice came from the TV.  Jennifer Lopez was on the screen, in some kind of weird Matrix-like reality. Alex was never a huge J-Lo fan, but she became intrigued as she watched the character’s talk about entering a person’s mind and dreams.

Then the plot shifted, to a scene with a woman floating in a glass tank. Alex’s muscles began to spasm, as she looked at the woman’s eyes. They held the same haunting gaze Verger’s victims had, and Alex’s hands gripped her blanket at her knees so tight her knuckles where white. She stared, unblinking, at the screen as a man entered the chamber, watching the woman in the tank and placing a large, long fingered hand on the glass.

‘There’s something familiar about those fingers,’ the thought flashed through Alex’s mind. But it quickly left, and she sucked in a breath of repulsion, as the man ran from the glass, holding his crotch. Obviously the scene aroused him to the point of orgasm, and Alex had to swallow down the bile in her throat.

The scenes then changed, and she saw that the police were processing a body dump scene. Another woman, with those same dead eyes, and Alex had to close her eyes for a moment. ‘This may be a movie, but its becoming very fucking real,’ she thought. She continued to watch, as if changing the channel would cut some kind of life line. She was completely riveted to the screen, hardly breathing, as another woman was shown sitting with her boyfriend. The camera backed out to show a man in a truck, stalking her.

Alex’s lungs constricted, heart seemed to stop, sweat beads formed on her upper lip and forehead. The camera angle changed to show the face of the stalker, the man who was at the water tank, the one who dumped the girl off the bridge like so much garbage. Alex Eames  looked into the face of the killer, and started to shake, violently.

‘Same dark brown eyes. Same nose, lips. Same head movements, somewhat erratic yet thoughtful. The hands… oh God… those hands… I know those hands,’ Alex’s mind kicked into overdrive, even as her body was frozen in time. Although the figure had longer, straight light brown hair, and no stubble on his cheeks, the figure looking back at her from the screen was Bobby Goren.

She continued to watch, breathing erratically. The serial killer, who kidnapped young woman, tortured them, and then wanted to turn them into a doll, had her partner’s face! The movie continued on, as the Bobby look-alike, Carl Starter, went into a coma and apparently J-Lo’s character would have to get into his mind to find his last victim. If she wasn’t horrified at the things Starter had in his head, Alex might have thought the special effects were cool.

She saw the boy, the terrible childhood, abusive father, tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

‘Could that have been what Bobby’s childhood was like?’, she thought, but she knew Bobby wasn’t exposed to the depravity young Starter had seen. Still she wondered.

By the time she saw adult Starter again, he was flaying a woman in a tub full of blood. Alex had curled into the fetal position on her couch, knees to her chest as she trembled. As he spoke, looked out of the screen, blood all over his arms, it was Bobby sitting there. Talking drags off a cigarette, just like she remembered, Bobby’s voice talking about what his father did to him. Alex had started to sob silently, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“My God..,” she breathed as she watched the monster, who had taken the place of her partner in her mind. ‘This must be what its like to be in Verger’s mind, and what he did to his victims,’ she thought. The show wore on, and Alex slowly descended into a darkness created by the horror she was allowing her imagination to inflict on her. Bobby had long since taken Carl Starter’s place at the Devil in the movie, all the physical differences between the two men had melded into one person in her mind.

A quote, Alex had heard somewhere ran through her head, “You think you can look into the face of pure evil, and then you find yourself paralyzed by it.”

Verger’s words whispered in her ears, “I can see it in your partner’s eyes…”. See what, loneliness, fear, need? Alex knew if he could see those things in her, and use them to make her feel raped, Bobby could see them too. She saw Bobby, as the monster on her screen, slinking over her. His muscles rippled under a sheen of blood that was spattered all over his torso. Alex sobbed harder, here eyes squeezed tightly shut and the vision took over her body. Somehow, she had shuffled off the couch and scuttled to a corner near her bookshelf, an attempt to escape the TV screen.

Alex opened her eyes, to see the monster with Bobby’s face crouching over her. He was broad chest was bare, but for the sheen of blood. His eyes, seemed to glow with a golden light, the pupils were slits like cat’s eyes, his head bald like from the movie. His teeth had been sharpened to a fine point, as his lips spread into a feral yet seductive smile. Alex tried to move, punch him, scratch, get away, … but her hands were cuffed above her head with spiked manacles. She tore her eyes from his long enough to notice she was naked, and his pants here made of something that looked like liquid silk, blood red. The fabric seemed to flow around him, not touching his skin yet obeying the movement of his body. He lowered his body to hers, and she gasped as she felt his manhood pressing into her leg. 

‘NO,’ she screamed in her mind, but it didn’t help. He bent his face down to hers. His eyes seemed to have some kind of hypnotic hold on hers, she couldn’t even close them to escape the terror she was feeling. ‘This is Not Happening! You can’t be HIM!’, she yelled in her mind, her voice had left her long ago. Alex managed to glance down at herself, and saw that her entire lower abdomen had been opened up savagely. It looked as if an animal had attacked her abdomen, leaving it open exposing organs and gore. Her heart stopped.

A large, bloody hand grabbed her face, bringing her eyes to his again. His lips were so close to her cheek, his breath was cold on her skin.

“I see your need,” the monster Goren purred, “Your.Mine.”

An ear piercing scream finally left Alex’s lungs. But she was now curled up on her living room floor, in the fetal position, covered in sweat and tears. She was shaking so hard, her muscles were actually in spasms.

“Help me…please.” Alex kept muttering this as she cried herself to an exhausted sleep, on her floor, not yet realizing what she would have to face tomorrow. 

 TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_“The strength of women is the pretense of weakness, and the weakness of men is the pretense of strength.”   ~ Anonymous_

 

__There is a time, when the walls must crumble and a person’s vulnerability will be laid out on the ground, completely exposed. We put up those walls in order to protect that, which is most precious to us, faith in our selves. We may stand, arms crossed, staring defiantly into the darkness we so adamantly fight against, and silently pray that we know what we are doing. We can win; we have the strength to win out over those monsters that lurk in the blackness. Faith can be the most powerful weapon in our arsenal. But, when we lose that faith, and the sickly-grey fingers of doubt creep into our hearts and we blindly fumble around for our convictions, we are lost to the darkness. And we scream, helplessly, blindly, for a savior to the hell-darkness we tumble into.

Grey light peeked in through the blinds, casting a blue-steel haze throughout the apartment. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, as if to warn the coming of something dangerous and evil. It was shaping up to be a day that was befitting her soul.

Alex had silently watched to window become lighter and lighter, as night gave way to dawn. She lay on her side, in the same spot on the floor where she had scrambled to the night before, trying to escape the demon who consumed her dreams. The tears had long since dried, and she felt dirty and numb. As she lifted herself off the floor, Alex also realized that she was too old to be sleeping on the floor, as her muscles and joints protested loudly. Stripping her clothing as she walked into her bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

_‘My God, Eames,_’ she thought, _‘you are in a seriously sad state when you let some stupid movie affect you like this.’_  Eames toyed with the idea of calling in sick; after all, paperwork was pretty much all that was awaiting her concerning the Verger case. She shuttered as his name flitted through her mind.

_‘Get a grip Eames! You are not some fragile, porcelain doll. You’ve worked too damn hard to get to where you are now. It was a case, its over…move on!’_  The voice in her head was trying to be strong, but the rest of her wasn’t keeping up the battle. Alex let the hot water of her shower wash the night-terror from her skin, reveling in the tension soothing heat.

After the shower, Alex fumbled in her closet for her clothes, eventually settling on some charcoal grey slacks, a black blouse and grey blazer. She tried to hide the darkness under her eyes, but to no avail. She decided that coffee was definitely a need; perhaps the caffeine would give her a much-needed boost. Alex started her coffee pot and reached into the cabinet for her mug, the one with the goofy colors Bobby had teased her about buying.

“It looks like a psyco-delic dream-trip of a hippy on Ecstasy,” he’d said.

Bobby. Suddenly his face appeared in her mind with a jolt, her breathe catching in her chest.  His image, that face with the eternal five o’clock shadow of stubble…the soft shy smile most were never privy to, (she often felt very special as she was usually the only one who received such rare smiles)…the deep, dark eyes that shown like beacons - stared contently back at her in her mind’s eye. Then the image, her partner and friend, contorted and flashed into the demon. The Monster Goren who’d mentally raped her the night before.

Alex slammed the mug down on the cabinet, breaking the handle off with a snap. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as she fought the Monster Goren in her head.

_‘No! Damn it! You’re not real! I’m NOT losing my mind!’_  She screamed in her head, as the nightmarish altar of her partner began to fuzz, eventually fading out completely.

Alex stood, hands on her cabinet, breathing deeply as she recovered from the vision. She knew she was a strong person. Living in a family with a cop for a dad had made her grow up before her time. Fighting her way through the police academy, making sure that the “good-‘ol boy system” understood that she was a capable and talented police officer, made her gain strength in believing in herself. Vice taught her to rely on her own instincts, giving her the confidence that she could take care of herself, as she was often alone, trolling the streets in pinching stilettos. Detective Alex Eames was not weak.

 Alex glanced up at her shelf, her eyes falling to the mug that occupied the spot next to hers. It was a tall, solid cup, in a no non-sense dark blue color. It was Bobby’s cup. The one he left at her place when he came over to work on late night cases, or when he had an idea that couldn’t wait until morning and he knew at he could come to Eames and talk it out. If he just needed to know that someone was there for him, when he was lost in his own mind, Eames would be the one he went to.  No matter what the hour, he could call, or knock on her door and she’d be there. That’s just the way it was.

Alex stared at his cup for a moment, realizing that it was just like Bobby, to be a constant presence by her side. She was not weak, and she would not let him know how this case had gotten into her mind and soul like a virus invading a host. She couldn’t let him know, that despite her best efforts, she had been damaged somewhere along the way.  That she was grappling with this fear, a horrible stinking fear, that maybe she didn’t know herself as well as she thought.

Alex didn’t know how she was going to face her partner. The Monster Goren in her mind was sure to pop up again, once she laid eyes on Bobby, and she knew all of the times Bobby had become violent, seemed to snap into his mother’s illness of the mind; or identified with the most evil of suspects - the lines between Goren and suspect blurred enough to make her skin crawl up her neck - would all roll back on her. Alex suddenly became aware, that even though they had been together for four years now, the Robert Goren, the real Robert Goren inside her partner was still a mystery to her. Everyone has a dark side, and she seemed to be the one who always tethered a teetering Bobby to the side of the precipice. She always kept him from falling into his darkness. Now she had to ask herself, if she was strong enough to keep on yanking him back. And perhaps even more frightening, does she really want to keep on trying. After all, if she is always the cement in their relationship, who will be the one to put the pieces back after she, herself, crumbles.

~***~

_“There are two kinds of weakness, that which breaks, and that which bends.” – James Russell Lowell_

_~***~_

All of these thoughts clutter Eames’ over worked, under-slept brain as she rode in the taxi to One Police Plaza. Anxiety made ugly knots in her gut as the neared the station. As she exited the taxi, Eames chided herself for being so foolish. Bobby was her partner and friend. She had trusted him with her life for more than four years now. There was no way one case, a little lack of sleep and a look-a-like movie character could tear up a four year partnership. Their connection had to be stronger than that, didn’t it?

The one thought kept gnawing at her heart, like a dog with a chew toy. Could she do her job, after breaking the golden rule of police work? She let a serial killer into her mind. She let him break down her walls, as efficiently as a bulldozer. She neared the entrance into the bullpen. She knew Bobby would be at his desk, opposite hers. North to her South. Ying to her Yang. Just as they had always been. She kept her eyes lowered, and slowed as she came to the entrance. She didn’t have to see him to know where he was. She could sense him - for Bobby Goren had the loudest presence of anyone she knew, and he never had to say a word.

She was afraid. There was no other way of saying it. She was afraid of her partner, and not just because she knew his face would conjure up images of the Monster Goren who sits silently in the corner of her psyche, waiting.  No, now she was afraid he wasn’t enough anymore. He wouldn’t be able to understand the demons of fear and doubt writhing in her gut at that moment. Bobby had always been the one who needed the life line, to be pulled back into reality when he went too far out, and Alex had never questioned her job as that life line. She’d always dutifully done her job, no matter how she, herself, might be feeling; and she would always do just that - because it was him. A new feeling entered Alex, one that she’d never equated with her partner - resent.

Eames was flailing in the darkness, and she did not know if she could trust Bobby to come out of his cerebral world long enough to find her.

_‘You have to look up sooner or later Eames_,’ she thought. Slowly, ever so slowly, she brought her eyes to the familiar place in the office, and hated the lump of fear that was rising in her throat.

~**~

_“Fear is a greater evil than the evil itself.” – St. Francois de Saks (1567-1622)_

_ TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

_“Nature has no love for solitude, and always leans, as it were, on some support; and the sweetest support is found in the most intimate friendship.” ~Cicero (106-43 BC)_

The word ‘partnership’ takes on a ton of new meanings when it applies to police officers. A partner in the business world may simply mean that they work together, discuss finances, and share all the responsibilities that accompany running a corporation. There are not too many life or death situations in a business partnership. Partners on the police force can be a whole different kind of animal. They end up being husband, wife, brother, father, mother, best friend, confidante, advisor, personal guardian, and the one who holds the other’s life in their hands every time a call goes out. There must be a bond, in order for this type of partnership to work; an understanding. That no matter how horrible you life has sunk, no matter what you’ve done or how alone you feel … your partner will always watch your back. 

Eames had taken that vow seriously when she discovered she was to be partnered with “Big Bobby Goren - resident eccentric genius.” She’d heard the rumors about his unorthodox behavior at crime scenes, his antics in the interrogation room, and how he just seemed to know things.  He seemed to know all kinds of things, which usually succeeded in creeping out his partners. This was probably the reason he’d gone through three partners before Eames. They just didn’t understand him.

The moment they’d met, and Alex met his eyes for the first time, she’d seen it. A loneliness so deep she had momentarily been at a loss for words. There was also a pleading in his eyes, shy and almost child-like that said, _“Will you be like the others? Will you leave too? Don’t…”_ Alex had promised in her heart right then and there, that whenever he needed her, she would be there. Always. But now, she wondered if that promise, had been worth it. Right now, Alex didn’t much feel like being that “partner” she’d promised him four years ago. All she felt right now was the very empty feeling of being alone.

Her eyes slowly lifted to the place in the multitude of desks and chairs where she and Bobby’s desks sat, joined. The lump of fear that had begun to rise in her throat, now lodged itself in her windpipe, effectively making her breath falter. Bobby sat in his chair, just as she knew he would be, his back turned to her as he appeared to be talking animatedly to the detective in the desk behind him. His robin’s-egg blue shirt, immaculate coat slung over his chair, and ever-coordinating tie, always seemed to make him stand out in the bull-pen. In an office of grays, blacks and browns; graying hair, squat bodies and pot-bellies - Bobby’s attire made him stand out all the more. And it was simply impossible to miss a six foot four, burley beast of a man, who’s physique, as well as his presence commanded attention.

Relief washed through Alex, for Bobby was completely involved in the conversation with the older detective, and mercifully had not turned to face her. Had he glanced up from the desk and locked eyes with his partner, Alex felt sure she would have been reduced to a shaking, whimpering, puddle of piss on the floor. The Monster Goren in her mind’s eye tended to have that effect on her.

“So far so good,” Alex muttered to herself. She glanced over to the other side of the room, and decided to sneak her way over to the coffee and water dispenser. Keeping a wary eye on Bobby, whose rumbling laughter could be heard throughout the office (some joke had obviously passed between the two detectives), Alex made her way to the coffee machine. She suddenly felt stupid for sneaking around like a suspect who was hiding something. _“This is really chicken-shit Eames,”_ she thought as she filled a cup with scalding black coffee. _“You’re acting like a stupid little…”_

“Thought you could sneak over here and get the last of the fresh coffee, did you?” Bobby rumbled softly in her ear. Some how he’d come up behind her, so close she could feel his body heat radiating from his chest, his shirt brushing lightly against her shoulder blades. Bobby always did seem to have the ability to ‘appear’ without anyone noticing. No small feat for a man of his size.

Alex jolted forward, as Bobby’s voice sent her heart into near arrhythmia. The lightning bolt of terror sizzled through her so violently she crushed the cup in her hand, sending scalding-hot coffee down her fist and onto the floor. She yelped in pain, and jumped sideways, away from the burning liquid and freeing herself from being confined in Bobby’s bulk. She shook her hand vigorously, trying to swallow the pain from the burning liquid, and the adrenaline that was coursing though her veins.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! _God_, Bobby! One of these days you’re going to sneak up behind me at the wrong time! Like when I have my nine-mil in my hand!” Alex frantically tried to control her breathing. Bobby, who had also been startled by Eames’ reaction to his presence, bent to pick up the coffee cup and some towels to tend to Eames’ hand.

“I’m sorry Eames, are you OK?” Bobby asked, his brows furrowed in concern. He’d never seen Alex so jumpy, and it only served to fuel his concern over her from the previous day. If truth be told, Bobby had spent most of the night, pacing in his living room, fretting over Eames.  This was completely perplexing to Bobby, who’d never worried about anyone this much, with the exception of his mother. In true Goren-esque style, he’d analyzed, dissected, and rolled these thoughts and feelings around in his brain until the wee hours of the morning, trying to piece the puzzle that was his partner, Eames, together.

 With a slight shake of the head, Bobby snapped himself out of his thoughts finally and took a step toward Alex, extending his hand to her. “Here, let me see,” he said softly.

Alex kept her eyes on her hand, which was now turning red, “I’m fine, it’s OK.”

“Alex, it’s not OK, you’ve been burned. Now let me see it,” he replied, a little firmer now.  He took a step closer to Eames, and to his astonishment, she put her good hand up in a ‘don’t come any closer’ sign, and took two swift steps back. This act, that might have seemed inconsequential to a by-stander, stung Robert Goren to the core. Completely taken off guard, Bobby paused in mid-step, his eyes narrowed as he studied her. He watched her as she rubbed her hand and she searched for something to say, his head tilted to the left. For once, Bobby Goren had no words, for this was an Eames who had just pushed him away….as if she were uncomfortable being near him. This Eames was unfamiliar to him.

“I’m OK I said…just… just leave it…” she said. Without thinking about it, Alex glanced up at Bobby’s face. Her eyes swept over the features she’d come to know as Bobby trying to work out a puzzle in his head. His brows knitted together as his eyes took her entire countenance in, blinking quickly. She could almost hear the gears cranking in his famous mind, and she suddenly felt very small in his presence - like a bug in a specimen jar.  She backed away another step, feeling more and more uneasy, when she dared to hold his gaze with her own for a moment. A flash, only a millisecond in length but a life time to Eames, sped through her mind. The Demon Goren was on her, raping her savagely. She was pinned under his massive frame, his tongue caressing her throat, sounds of pleasure thrumming through his chest into hers with each agonizingly powerful thrust. It was as if she were frozen, unable to scream or breathe. As he hammered into her, tearing and ravaging everything sacred within her, he growled in her ear in a voice thick with lust and pleasure, “You know you’re mine Alex. You’ve been waiting from me to do this. Alex…Alex…”

“Alex…ALEX?” Bobby raised his voice a notch in fear.

Alex blinked, the vision died. She was standing, shaking and staring in wide-eyed terror at Bobby. She tore her eyes from him and looked to the side, as she took in a few shuddering breaths.

Bobby’s eyes were huge as well. He’d seen something horrible wash over his partner as she looked at him. Her color drained from her face, and she had begun to tremble. Since when did Eames tremble? His concern that she might have been afraid of him in that interrogation, now turned to fear. This was totally unfamiliar territory for Goren, whose first instinct at seeing Eames in this trembling state was to reach out to her, comfort her. But for all his vast knowledge - all of his training - Bobby didn’t know how to go about comforting her. He’d never had to before; she was usually the one who comforted him after a draining case or one of his encounters with Nicole. When he fell, she was there, always. His best and closest friend, even if lately he had been feeling a consuming need for her to be more.  Now, he was completely at a loss; torn between his overwhelming need to help her, and the enveloping doubt and uncertainty that he would even be able to help her.

~*~

_“What is shape without form; what is chaos without order; what is life without death; what is friendship without love.” ~ Scott Watson_

_~*~_

Just as he finally found his voice, which had mysteriously left him at some point, Captain Deakins stuck his head out of his office.

“Goren! Eames! My office, now!”

Alex slid past Bobby, moving quickly to Deakins office. Bobby watched after her for a moment, and then followed. Alex moved to the side of Deakins desk crossing her arms protectively over her chest, and Bobby sidled up behind her, taking his usual place behind her right shoulder. His eyes had never left her. Alex felt his body heat again, his breath wafted across her neck. His closeness had never bothered her before; it had always been a sort of comfort having him behind her. Now it unnerved her, and she took a step forward, away from Bobby again.

“There’s been another murder,” Deakins said as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. “It has the same signature of the Verger murders.”

“That’s…that’s impossible. We got Verger dead-to-rights on those seven murders,” Alex said looking up in surprise.

“He had a partner…,” Bobby muttered softly. He waggled his head slightly, as if to dislodge a thought and held up his hand, a sign he was about to let them in on some minute inference he’d made. “We should have seen it sooner…the differences… the subtle changes.”

Deakins took on his usual look of exasperation when he was made to wait for Goren to finish a thought and let him in on his explanation. Alex only turned her head slightly in Goren’s direction. Bobby began to pace between Alex and the window, his left hand found its place with the knuckles resting on his lower lip.

“The girl’s body types changed between the sixth and seventh victim. They… they went from tall and heavy-boned… to petite and slim.” Bobby rubbed his forehead. “The cuts…the cuts had been almost surgical in the beginning,” his eyes scanned between Deakins and Alex, “on the sixth and seventh victims, they were…hurried, savage… as if he’d lost his control.”

“The partner was in training the first few go-rounds, and then the coach let him try a couple on his own,” Deakins filled in.

“Verger was creating an image of himself, a son,” Bobby said as his head tilted, his eyes blinking rapidly as he worked out all the scenarios in his head.  He glanced over at Eames, who was standing stark still with her eyes lowered. This was his typical cue for her to pick up the conversation, to add some tid-bit of insight to better help him sort the multitude of thoughts that often cluttered and stalled his brain. But she remained quiet.

“We better get out to the crime scene then.  I don’t care how, but you get this mutt.” Deakins was flatly looking at Goren. Alex noticed this. As always, all the hopes and expectations of the Major Case department would rest on the famous Detective Goren. Detective Eames would be a by-line yet again, and resent bubbled up inside her once again.

“The mayor is fuming and the press squads are drooling over this. They called Verger ‘The Collector’, and now they’ll be saying we have the wrong piece of trash in custody. I can just see the headlines, “The Collector Returns” or some bullshit. Go on, get out there,” Deakins said, and dismissed them with a wave of the hand. Alex turned quickly and strode out of his office. Bobby and Deakins traded glances, before Bobby followed, snatching his coat and trying to catch up with his long gate.

“Alex, are you…are you sure you’re alright? What happened at the coffee machine… that’s was...  it’s just...,” Bobby tried to catch her eyes as they walked to the elevator.

“I told you I’m fine. For once Goren, leave it alone. There is a sick bastard out there, killing young women… AGAIN.” Her voice was hard, and cold. She could feel him flinch at her words, but she couldn’t let herself care. Not if she was going to make it through another grizzly second-coming of the serial case from Hell. No matter how much she wanted Bobby to help her, save her, she just wasn’t ready to lay herself out - exposed. Not with the possibility that he would not know how to put the pieces back. She couldn’t take that chance, for both their sakes.

So, even though it ripped a new chasm in her heart, made her ache just a little deeper and hate herself just a little more, she would do the thing that would hurt her closest friend and partner the most. She would push him away.

~*~

_“All love that has not friendship for its base is like a mansion built upon the sand.”~ Ella Wilcox (1850-1919)_


	5. Chapter 5

_“The greatest Weakness of all is the great fear of appearing Weak.” ~ Jacques B. Bossuet_

_“Faith is like Love, it cannot be forced.” ~ Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)_

Those who say that the only thing to truly fear, is fear itself, never seem to continue on to say that battling said fear can result in getting one’s ass kicked. Emotionally was well as physically. And the process is made worse ten-fold when one is fighting, tooth and nail, alone. Somehow, that little detail of the obligatory “Keep a Stiff Upper Lip, You can Do it” speech seems to be left out. When a person’s innermost psyche, the convictions they held most dear to their soul and the beliefs they once clung to can be slashed open, gnawed on, and rendered to a bloody sheath flapping in the wind; it is definitely no ordinary fear. But no one seems to mention that, while they give a hearty pat on the back and a good-natured chuck on the shoulder. One need not wonder why. This kind of fear, this soul-sucking species of terror, is not the kind that can be conquered by simply chanting “I think I can, I think I can.” This animal would de-rail that little train. 

The ride in the elevator nearly suffocated Eames.  Silence between she and her partner hung in the air, stifling and stagnant, like the humidity after a summer rainstorm. They had always enjoyed a companionable silence when they traveled together, when Goren needed time to work through his thought processes, and Eames would wait patiently. This silence, however, was unbearable, and Eames shifted her weight in the elevator every few minutes, staring at the numbers as they counted down.

Goren glanced over at her every few seconds, unable to keep his insatiable need to understand in check. Twice, he licked his lips, and opened his mouth to say something to her, anything to get her to reveal her eyes to him, her secrets. But both times, he snapped his mouth shut, completely unsure yet again of how to proceed. Had she been a suspect, Goren would be within his element, reading her and cracking her like a walnut. But this was Eames, _his_ Eames. Much to his despair, Goren couldn’t seem to shut off his “detective” mode. That switch seems to be in the eternal “ON” position.

Thunder growled in the distance again, and the wind picked up, whipping Eames’ hair and coat. The temperature was dropping, and the sky had turned into a boiling mass of gun-metal gray clouds. It seemed the All-Mighty Himself was fine tuning the weather to Eames’ soul. _“Ironic,_” Eames mused as they got into the SUV. Goren, as always, had to fold himself in to the car, his knees still pressed against the glove compartment. On his lap, his ever-present brown leather binder was opened to the few scraps of blank paper he would need as he jotted down bits and pieces of information he would later formulate into some preternaturally insightful theory.

“The victim was found in an alley…not far from…uh, the Vector Room.” Bobby glanced up from the police report, his eye sweeping over Alex’s form, waiting for her to add some piece of relevant information she’d learned while working Vice. She, of course, would know the Vector Room; one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan for the not-so-upstanding college crowds and those who still wish they were college age. Alex’s only response was an almost imperceptible nod of the head, and Bobby was left to stumble over yet another of his missed cues.

“Uh…he probably saw her in the club,” he raised one had to gesticulate, as Alex maneuvered in traffic, “he liked what he saw…she fit his criteria,”

“We haven’t even seen the crime scene yet.” Alex’s voice was low, the tone held no emotion. “We won’t really know what his ‘criteria’ is until we see the body.” She swallowed and cocked her head to the side a little, trying to hide the effect a sudden image of the many victim’s dead-eyes was having on her.  She knew Bobby would be dead-on with his assessment of the killer’s actions in stalking his prey, but it still irked her that he was working through the case before they even arrived at the scene. He was encapsulating himself inside his head again, leaping ahead in a case without her, _again_ \- she slipped a little deeper into her isolation.

Bobby watched her physical reaction when she mentioned the body. He knew the last thing she needed to see was another mutilated young woman, that this serial case was doing some major damage to her. But something else was brewing under her surface, the same something that had caused her to repulse from his touch and regard him as though she were looking at a monster. The sting of her reaction at the coffee-maker still prickled inside his chest, he’d never realized how easily she could affect him. But, then again, he knew all too well the power one petite detective had over him, even with the simplest head nod, glance over her shoulder, or a wry smile cast in his direction. She could make or break him with a simple look. She was his compass, his touch-stone, his confirmation; even if he desperately tried to hide it. Bobby would have given every star in the heavens, just to touch her right at that moment, and have her reciprocate what that touch truly meant deep inside his heart. But he was afraid, for more reasons than he’d care to admit.

Bobby sighed heavily, turning his gaze out the window as his own self-conscious fears began to create a weight on his heart.

~*~

_“Grasp not at much, for in Fear thou loses all” ~ George Herbert (1593-1633)_

_~*~_

Yellow police tape, flashing red and blue lights, and a multitude of bustling people greeted the detectives as they pulled their dark SUV in at the scene. Reporters clamored for the best shots, hanging over the police lines. Alex recognized the scene; the same commotion had been a constant at every crime scene for “The Collector” murders. She took a deep breath as Bobby opened his door, attempting to steel herself for the work ahead. As they walked around their vehicle, Goren took the lead, with Eames falling in behind him, allowing his bulk to part the crowd in front of them. Sometimes, having a man of Goren’s size came in handy, even if it was as a people-moving shield. Eames allowed herself a small smile at that thought. Right away, however, the reporters descended upon the new comers like vultures. 

“Detectives! Is this the work of The Collector?” shouted one voice.

“Is it a copy-cat, are the signatures the same?” another asked.

Goren did his best to be careful enough not to step on anyone, or shove one of the multiplying microphones up someone’s nose. He really hated being crowded, and he hated that these people were keeping him from his crime scene. Eames knew that Goren was getting frustrated, his proper place was in the crime scene; he simply _fit_ there. Politicking and playing the media were nowhere to be found on Goren’s priority list. One ballsy young man managed to get under the tape and away from the uniforms guarding the area, and shouldered his way between Goren and Eames.  Goren was completely occupied with maneuvering to the actual crime scene; he didn’t notice someone working their way in behind him. Eames had been somewhat lost in her own world, staring at the breadth of Bobby’s massive back and wondering why she didn’t notice how big he actually was before, when she had to suddenly stop short to keep from running nose-first into a microphone that had materialized in her face.

 She stared, almost shocked at the young reporter’s gall, when he asked, “Detective, how are the citizens of New York supposed to feel safe when the NYPD keeps putting the wrong people in jail?” He cocked a sly eyebrow at her, as she faltered.

“We didn’t, I mean, we thought…,” she started, then caught herself.

“Isn’t it true, Detective, that you cops rush to jail the first suspect you can get your hands on, in order to garner the best press in a high-profile case like this?” He started to advance on her, entering her personal space.

Grinding her teeth, fists balled and tilting her chin slightly upward, Alex prepared to give this reporter the Alex Eames version of ‘No Comment’, when the reporter’s face suddenly disappeared behind a brown-coat eclipse. 

“The NYPD…has _no_ comment.” Goren’s voice was low and deep, almost a growl. Eames blinked to register that yet again, Goren seemed to have materialized out of thin air in front of her. She stepped cautiously to Goren’s left side, as if she were sidling around a sleeping bear.

The reporter, who had been attempting to intimidate the small female detective, now shrank in on himself. His eyes were saucers, and there was the distinct possibility, she thought, that he was pissing himself. “I was only asking her…,” he squeaked, but his tongue must have shriveled in his mouth.

Alex looked up at her partner, as he took a step toward the shaking young man. At times, Bobby Goren seemed oblivious to his menacing size; he tended to down play his height by dipping his head, hunching his huge shoulders. It made him seem less threatening, especially coupled with his quiet and sometimes shy manner of speaking. But when he was feeling protective, Goren rose to his full height, squaring those enormous shoulders and fixing his prey with a glare that has been known to reduce the bravest of men to quivering masses of shot nerves and urine-soaked clothing.

“Move.” Bobby needed only say it once, for the reporter found his legs finally and skittered back into the sea of cameras and microphones. Alex felt his heat radiating in waves as she stepped past his arm. It sent shivers down her arms and up her spine, setting the hairs on her neck on end.

“I could have handled it, Bobby,” she muttered as she walked on to where the body was shrouded. Bobby’s possessiveness, despite her best efforts, had stirred a little warm spot deep in her lower gut, aroused something. But she couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense right now.

Goren watched her pass, catching her remark and replied softly, “I never doubted you could.” He then followed her into the alley, where the body had been covered with a white sheet.

Goren pulled the sheet back, settling himself as close to the body as he could get, taking in every detail. Alex had kept her eyes averted, trying to busy herself with taking notes from the first uni on the scene, and not look upon the victim’s face. He examined her hands, even smelling them for some inexplicable scent that might be a clue. Alex finally willed herself to look upon the body, focusing first on her partner. It astonished her sometimes, how gentle and almost reverent he could be with a body.

Bobby sat back on his haunches, finally taking in the victim’s entire features in context. His brows furrowed, as a realization dawned on him. The woman was small, five one, five two maybe; slight of build, light brown hair. Her features were rounded and soft, in life she would have had the girl-next door beauty that probably made her very popular. Her arms were folded over her naked breasts, as if she were trying to stay warm. Bobby fought the urge to take his coat off and wrap it around her. There were ghastly gouges riddling her lower abdomen, her internal organs exposed. Ugly black and purple bruises had formed on her legs, thighs and around her genital area. Her woman-hood had been torn and violated, and Bobby clenched his fist, bringing it up to his mouth. This was the worst evidence of rape he’d ever seen, and he had to fight down the rage that was bubbling within. He stood, tilting his head and swaying on his feet slightly, removing his eyes from the body.

“He’s becoming more and more frustrated. Whatever…it is he - he wants from these women…he’s not getting it. He rapes them first, repeatedly…then he cuts them. Eames…he…,” Bobby looked to his partner, and stopped in mid-sentence.

Alex stood mannequin-still, pale and drawn. She was locked in on the victim’s eyes, the screams for mercy were echoing in her ears. Bobby’s heart clenched in his chest, Eames’ pain rode some invisible current from inside her, straight into his essence. It was a horrific pain. His eyes tore from Eames to the victim, and the realization set in again; this woman had a frightening resemblance to Alex. _His _Alex!

He stepped in front of her view, wanting to sever whatever connection had locked Eames to the victim. She blinked, as the screams died away in her mind. She found herself, face to chest with Bobby, his body so close she could breathe in his aftershave. It was as if someone pressed a “pause” button, the commotion of the crime scene fuzzed into the background, and she and Bobby were the only two standing in the stillness. 

“Alex,” Bobby tried, his voice almost a whisper so he wouldn’t startle her again, “Alex, listen to me. You don’t have to stay here with the body. Y-you can finish taking statements…beyond the barrier over there.. i-if you want.”  His voice began to shutter somewhat as her eyes lifted to his. Bobby was afraid; he was afraid that he was losing Eames. He could feel their connection faltering and fraying and he was like a screaming child, grasping madly at that tie unwilling to let it slip through his fingers.

Once their eyes locked, Bobby stopped breathing. Alex saw the resemblance; he hadn’t been quick enough to protect her from it. Her sadness and despair smoldered deep in her eyes, and Bobby had never regretted his freakish sense of perception as much as he did now.

“It’s got to stop Bobby. One way or another, this has got to stop,” Alex whispered.

Bobby had no words for the burning pain that was roasting his insides. He had no idea seeing Alex in this much anguish would hurt him this much, and it set all his fears of not having the ability to help her on end. As if it was guided by a mind of its own, his hand lifted and neared Alex’s cheek. Ever fiber of his being was screaming at him to touch her, to feel some sort of connection as their life-line to each other seemed to be fraying. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, to reassure himself as well as Alex that they were not lost. In truth, he wanted to crush her in an embrace, and infuse her being with his own, anything to keep her from drifting away.

Alex felt his hand coming nearer, and she balked. She shied from his touch, and the ‘play’ button on the world resumed; the cacophony of noise slamming them back into reality. She couldn’t let herself fall apart like this, even as much as she would like to crawl in to a hole somewhere and pull the hole in on herself. Even if deep inside, she longed for a compassionate touch from Bobby, she couldn’t be sure if he was doing it for her reassurance or because he himself was quickly losing his balance. She looked away, as Captain Deakins’ familiar voice could be heard from somewhere behind the police line. She hoped he hadn’t seen the laps in professionalism between her and her partner.

Tilting her chin up and setting her wall up again she stated, “I think I have all we need from the uniform who found her. We should head over to the Vector Room; see if anyone saw who she left with. Sounds like Deakins couldn’t wait for our update either.” And she pulled herself, again, from Bobby’s presence.

Bobby let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He’d watched that wall go up in her eyes, hard and cold, and he groaned inwardly when she shied and robbed his fingers of her warmth. Glancing around to make sure no one saw the dejected look on his face,  he situated his binder under one arm, shoved his fists in his coat pockets, and followed after Eames.

Eames passed Deakins heading to see the body, and told him they were going to question witnesses at the Vector Room. Thunder howled loudly, shaking the buildings; the storm was moving closer. As she sat in the car, waiting for Bobby to finish talking to Deakins, Alex thought about the image that flashed in her eyes for the millisecond before she moved from Bobby’s touch. A small woman, lying naked, arms crossed over her breasts; abdomen ripped open, raped and ravaged. Blood was spattered on the ground. It was cold; she was alone in the blackness. A beast-like form, huge and muscular, crouched in the shadows. It was almost exactly like looking at the crime scene Alex had just walked away from. Only the face that stared back at Alex, eyes opaque with the pallor of death, was not the face of the Collector’s protégé’s latest prey.

It was hers.

~*~

_“Vulnerabilities are exploitable weaknesses.” ~ Unknown_

_~*~_


	6. Chapter 6

_"Truly, it is in the darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us." Meister Eckhart (1260-1327)_

_"Understanding is the reward of Faith. Therefore, seek not to understand that thou mayst believe, but believe that thou mayst understand."_

_St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430 A.D.)_

One of those days. One of those days, where one awakens to find that it is sleeting outside and you can't find your raincoat. One awakens to find no hot water, shampoo, or toothpaste - and you've got a really big meeting that morningwhere you're fairly sure your boss doesn't want to see the _trees_ you feel you've got growing in your teeth. The coffee pot doesn't work, all that's in your fridge is a carton of milk that may date back to the Nixon administration, and probably most important - why in the _hell_ do you have _no_ clean underwear? Yes, this is one of those days where it would have been infinitesimally better to stay in bed, covers pulled over your head and the ringer on your phone turned off. Unfortunately, this day was rapidly mutating into something far worse than simply "One of Those Days".

Thunder bellowed overhead again as Alex leaned her head back against the head rest in the SUV. She swallowed thickly, trying to push the image of herself lying in the cold blackness, torn and bloodied, out of her weary mind. She could feel it slipping from her - her strength, her faith, her grip on reality-slowly loosening like a tether on a storm-tossed boat. She knew, when that tie gave way, she would be lost forever to the darkness. And the worst part was, she was beginning to realize that she was losing the strength to care.

Alex glanced toward Bobby and Deakins, knowing Deakins would be placing his bets on the best detective for this case. And, as always, Detective Goren was the sure-win favorite. "_Why waste time and energy betting on a detective who's been having delusions and slowly losing her mind,"_ Alex asked herself. She suddenly wondered what good she ever was as a cop. She'd been a damn good Vice cop, luring johns in with a sly smile and well placed flash of cleavage. But was that all she was good for, a nice looking piece of ass with a badge? A skirt who could temporarily distract male suspects long enough for the great Goren to swoop in and save the day? Alex scrubbed her hands over her face, as Goren made his way to the car. At one time, Alex Eames knew she made one hell of a detective, that she could kick-ass with the best of the boys and look good while doing it. But this monster in her head, giving her these terrifying visions, was also eating up her confidence in her abilities.

Goren slid into the passenger seat and Alex started the car. He relayed the conversation he and Deakins had at the crime scene, and that Deakins was under a huge amount of pressure from the mayor to find Verger's protege.

"Like we aren't under enough pressure..." Alex muttered.

Bobby looked over at her, concern etched on his face. He wasn't eager to connect with her eyes again; the scene near the body replayed itself painfully in his memory. He'd received a backlash current of searing pain when he caught her eyes, it nearly stopped his heart. Bobby was not used to these feelings of inadequacy - he'd always been able to find the answers to the puzzles and he'd taken no small measure of pride in his ability to have a firm hold on even the gravest situations. He always wanted all the answers kept neatly filed in his vast filing system of a brain, ready to be plucked out at the right time. For his ordered world to be fucked six ways to Sunday, it took something catastrophic. Such as, Nicole Wallace flipping him over and exposing his vulnerable underbelly with her own research into his psyche--or Eames, slowly slipping from his grasp. Only the latter of the two would utterly destroy Bobby Goren.

* * *

_"Grief drives men to serious reflection, sharpens the understanding, and softens the heart." John Adams (1735-1826)  
_

The Vector Room was only a block or so away from the alley where the victim was found. Absence of sufficient blood at the scene told Goren and Eames that she was not killed there-only dumped. The thought of being abandoned in that cold alley, naked and alone caused Eames to shiver as they pulled into the Vector Room's parking lot. It was an older building, probably once housed a factory or was used as a storage warehouse. The entrance had been refurbished, with huge red double-doors, entry carpet and red barrier chain. Since it was early afternoon, the bouncer was not at his post in front of the door, but Eames imagined he was the stereo-typical sort. Ano-necked, gorilla-chested, lantern-jawed goomba.

As she opened her car door to get out, Eames felt a slight electric-like jolt through her wrist as Goren's enormous hand gently stopped her. When she turned, glancing down at his hand, and then only bringing her eyes to his for a second before casting them to side, Bobby feared she may bolt again. When she allowed his hand to remain, gently enveloping her small wrist and her body heat radiated up his arm with subtle tingles, he sighed in relief, relishing the feeling of her skin under his. So enthralled with the long-missed sensation of touching her skin and marveling at how his hand engulfed hers, Bobby momentarily forgot what he stopped her for. Alex lifted a brow in silent questioning, and Bobby came out of the mind-haze her touch had sent him into.

"Uhm...are you sure you're OK? Back there, at the alley...I just..."

"Forget about it Bobby. We have a job to do here, remember? Somebody saw that girl leave. Nobody just ignores a pretty girl at a club like this, guys probably hit on her all night," she said.

"Know a lot about that, do you," Bobby cocked his head andgave her a boyish half-smile, his thumb began to unconsciously rub the top of her hand softly, "getting hit on at clubs, I mean."

Alex had become lost in the feeling of his strong hand, caressing her skin. She was so tired, so weak and so sick of feeling alone that his touch was sending a current of warmth through her arm and settled in her stomach, fluttering slightly. She desperately wanted to fall into his burly arms and sob out her secrets of the past few days until the last ounce of salt water escaped down her cheeks.

She gazed at the boyish grin he saved only for her eyes, her resolve shaking, "I wouldn't go that far..."

"I imagine you did... get the offers..." Bobby's voice became hushed, his eyes tracing over her features and his heart shouting at him to increase their contact. Dipping his head to catch her eyes, Bobby let all of his concern and rapidly growing feelings soften his intense eyes.

"Alex, I know this case has been hard for you. You're empathizing with the victims too much." Alex watched him change from Concerned-Let-Your Wall-Down and Let- Me-In Bobby, to Profiling-Interrogation Bobby as he spoke. "It's normal... most female officers, want to believe in woman victims more often. They can sympathize so much, they can actually see themselves as those women- as potential victims." Bobby stopped as he saw something in Alex's eyes change-a darkening.

"I am NOT a victim, Goren," she hissed. "Why don't you stop worrying about getting into my head, and get into the head of this sick fuck that is raping and slaughtering these women." And with that, she pulled her hand from his grasp and headed toward the doors of the Vector Room. Bobby had never failed to amaze her with his gifted perception- effectively hitting the bulls-eye of whatever she was hiding, but this time she felt penetrated with out permission. She was having a hard enough time dealing with these feelings of weakness and helplessness; she didn't need Bobby thinking she was a victim as well. The Monster Goren in her mind ran his tongue over his lips lasciviously, savoring Alex's latest violation.

Bobby had opened his mouth to stop her, but then thought over his choice of words. He'd basically belittled Alex as a competent police officer because of her gender. He had actually reduced the person he cared most about, to a gender stereotype- the typical weak little woman. As he followed her into the Vector Room, his hand rubbing angrily at the back of his neck, Bobby mentally flogged himself for verbally slapping her down and his figures still screamed at the loss of her warmth.

Inside, the Vector Room was impressively different than the shoddy warehouse facade. Neon lights ran along the guide rails near the bar and around the walls. The bar was enormous, art-deco style with chrome accents and inset lighting. It ran the entire length of the back wall; hundreds of exotic bottles brandishing a myriad of colors of liquor lined the shelves. The dance floor was also huge--Alex thought her entire apartment might easily fit into the dance area with room to spare. A metal staircase ran up the far right side of the club. Goren and Eames looked up to find that the owners had not enclosed the ceiling; instead keeping the warehouse-feel. There were several floors with balconies overlooking the club below, with iron railings and seating areas lining the second and third lofts.

Goren and Eames, putting the interlude in the car behind them, snapped into 'professional mode' as they approached the bar tender. He was young, twenty eight or so; blonde and baby faced giving him a slight resemblance to a young Brad Pitt. There were other day-workers ambling around, shelving bottles, sweeping the floors and cleaning the many mirrors that dotted the walls. Eames took the lead with the opening questions as always, Goren would jump in when he saw the right opportunity. The bar tender, Matt Young, also happened to be one of the managers- and he was also a smart-ass.

"First time anything sketchy happens in this neighborhood, I'm the first place on you cops' lists. Man, that's just wrong," Matt muttered.

"Maybe that's because you run a sketchy place," Eames quipped, she was in no mood to play with this little shit. Goren seized the opportunity to run interference for Eames and produced the Polaroid of the victim for Matt to look at.

"Do you recognize this girl, she may have been here last night," Goren questioned.

"Yeah... man...that's Annie," Matt started, paling slightly at the picture, "Annie Rogers, she's a regular. She's a grad-student at NYU, comes in here with friends nearly every weekend. She's...a real sweet girl, nottrash like so many of these other skanks that come up in here." Matt shook his head, his face screwed in disgust as he handed the photo back to Goren, "Jesus, you look at people now-a-days-- what they do...you gotta wonder what the hell God was thinkin'."

Goren studied him, his head tilted in thought--gauging and measuring his reaction to the photo and the questions with his finely tuned meter of a brain.

"Did you see who she left with last night...if she left with a-a special guy perhaps?"

Matt turned and leered at Eames, his lips tilting in a lascivious smile, "Sweet little thing like her, guys were all over her every night. She had an innocent farm girl look, but man... she could _dance_. I bet you get the same reaction from the guys, detective, with that body...and the cuffs. Hmmm... I bet you're wicked fun off duty."

Eames narrowed her eyes, fixing him with a death-glare that would freeze a man's balls off, "Keep it up kid, I bet you'd make an interesting play-thing for some of the guys in Attica."

Goren deflected by stepping between the kid and Eames and resumed his questioning. Alex didn't like being cut out of the interview, but she was rapidly losing her grip on her temper as it was. She backed off, looking around the club. A few of the guys working downstairs had stopped to ogle the detective. They were whispering to themselves, sending glances her way. Alex felt something cold and slimy slink up her spine, sending chills rippling over her skin. Someone was in the shadows, just off toward the stairs behind her. Alex's stomach lurched, she'd felt this presence before. The night in her apartment, when she lost the battle to the Monster Goren--and before...in the interrogation room, she'd felt it. Verger. That same inky, sickening fear that someone was seeing into her inner most thoughts - her innermost weaknesses and could use them to rape her. Just as she was turning, ever so slowly toward the source of the malevolent waves of sensation, Goren's burly form appeared behind her.

Alex jumped slightly, cursing herself. Bobby winced again, having frightened his partner for the second time that day. His interview had been off, the loss of Alex's presence at his side, adding her thoughts into the interview, had thrown his normal thought processes off kilter. He'd had a terrible flash-back to the time when she was off on leave, and he was alone, fumbling through interrogations with a mere ill-suited substitute. Bobby had turned expecting her to be at his side, and she wasn't there. Panic gripped his heart for a moment, until his eyes found her petite form and relief eased the ache.

Alex reached up and flipped a golden strand out of her eye, attempting to hide the fear that she knew Bobby would read in her eyes if she looked at him.

"Sorry, I was just looking the place over. There are a lot of secluded places Annie could have wondered off to with some guy. No one would have been able to see her, especially with the lights down." Alex nervously glanced over her shoulder, toward the stair case. Bobby watched her closely, feeling her slipping from his grasp yet again.

"Mr. Young said that this club can get pretty crowded, th-that people spill upstairs and there are... two other exits she could have used," Bobby edged nearer to Alex, entering her personal space--his bulk almost encompassing her like a shield. He had felt her fear radiating out from across the room, and his overwhelming need to be near her blotting out any care of seeming unprofessional (or worrying about personal boundaries.)

"He's been here," Alex whispered so softly Bobby had to bend his head closer to hear, "I know he's been here, Bobby. This is his hunting ground."

"He stalks them here," Bobby continued for her, equally as soft, "He probably watched from one of the balconies. He finds a small, easy prey...he-he works his way to them. He talks to them, compliments them...maybe buys them a drink or dances with them."

"He's a seducer," Alex breaths. She chanced a look at Bobby, surprised by his proximity. He's so close, almost embracing her with his sheer size. He wasgazing down at her, head tilted down--eyes softened in compassionate understanding. He felt the strand of their connection in his hands as they profiled the killer together, as if they were finally watching the same program again. Bobby wanted to wrap that strand around his wrists and dig his heals in; it was the first sign in a while that they were working in unison and he did not want to let go. He simply couldn't let go. Bobby suddenly realized that he would play this game of tug-o-war, her pushing and him pulling, forever if he had to. He didn't know if he was strong enough, but there was no giving in... no letting her go. Not ever.

* * *

_"The prudence of the best heads is often defeated by the tenderness of the best hearts." Henry Fielding (1707-1754)  
_

Bobby held the door for Alex as the made their way to the car, she lost in thought and he was lost in his new realization. The ride back to the plaza was quiet, each giving the other space to think. They rode up the elevator to the eleventh floor, and Bobby was the first to break the silence.

"We know where his hunting ground is. We know he prefers petite women...he sees them as easy prey--makes him feel strong," he looked down at Alex as they rounded the corner to the bull-pen. Her face seemed to solidify into determination, and Bobby desperately wanted to know what had been going through her mind on the way up.

They crossed the floor to their desks and Alex reached over and gathered all the photos of the eight victims, placing them in a folder.

Bobby continued, his hand coming to rest against his lips--his thoughtful pose when he was rifling through his encyclopedic stores of knowledge--looking for the minute piece of information that would make the pieces fit.

"If only we knew what he looked like. Uh...a-a sketch to put out...so women would be able to put a face to the monster. Some way...this guy needs to be brought out...before he grabs another girl...i-if he hasn't already."

Alex took in a deep, steeling breath as she looked down at the folder of horrible images. Their eyes were still screaming at her. The Monster Goren in her mind rose up behind her, his muscular arms sliding around her naked trembling body. He knew what she was thinking, and his pleasure was growing as he breathed terrible promises in her ear, his man-hood pressing painfully in her back.

She shook her head, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her decision was made.

"There is a way," she said simply. Bobby's head snapped away from his hand on his lips, his eyes questioning. But Alex had turned, walking purposely to Deakins' office.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

_“Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy.” Dean Koontz _

_“Courage is Fear holding on a minute longer.” George Patton_

Once in a while, (sometimes more often than not) one tends to want to ask one’s self, “What in the Hell were you thinking?” It usually happens when something is said, something hurtful or inappropriate, and you wish you could just suck the words back into your mouth. Sometimes it happens when we charge headlong into an action (be it for moral, ethical or emotional reasons) we have no business jumping into. The ramification of such an action, however, is merely an afterthought, which usually rears its ugly head later on—at the worst possible time. On the other hand, if we let fear take hold—stifling and gobbling up our convictions to do what we know is right, the consequences of that _inaction_ would be far worse than any Hell we could think of.

Assistant District Attorney Ron Carver, who had been perched on the edge of Captain Deakins’ desk, stood out of courtesy when a war-weary Alex Eames strode into Deakins’ office. In her arms were the forensic photos of the seven Collector victims, and Annie—the trainee’s victim.

“ADA Carver here was just telling me we may have a new fly in the ointment,” Deakins said with his usual dry sarcasm. His tone was tinted with frustration—frustration with the political muckity-mucks higher up the food chain who he usually catered to, but now despised—and fatigue from the work days that had no end in sight. Jim Deakins was a cop through and through, but he had been morphed - somewhere along the way - into a political puppet…with the mayor, chief of detectives and others who would use his squad’s hard work and arrest rates to ride all the way to Washington…pulling the strings. He hated it.

“I’m just saying,” Carver spoke up, “that last thing I, or any of us want is Mr. Simon Verger back on the streets.”

Alex’s shoulders sagged as she registered what Carver had said.

“Verger’s lawyers. They’re claiming false arrest…” Goren’s voice was flat, cold—he walked in a minute or so behind Eames, and was now standing in his usual spot behind her. He’d never held Carver in very high esteems; as the lawyer always seemed to want to take the easy-way-out. Carver never wanted to take a chance, never quite acted like he trusted Goren, never wanted to stick his neck out (although he was quite amiable to let Eames or Goren, or even Deakins put their heads on the block).

Carver sighed heavily; as he usually did when the six foot four brick-wall he banged his head against regularly, saw past his verbal sidestepping.

“Detectives,” he started, as if placating a fussy child, “Another murder has been committed while the suspect thought to have perpetrated the previous murders, was in custody. His lawyers are saying that you have the wrong man in jail, that the true killer behind the… now eight Collector murders is still out there…and frankly if we don’t come up with some evidence soon…I’m going to have to agree with them.” Carver held up his hand—partly in defense, as Goren was now glaring at him from beneath his brows—and partly as a sign that there was even more bad news coming. “You know, and I know Simon Verger is guilty as sin. But with this, ‘son’ as you call him, Detective, killing more women while Verger is inside, his lawyers will have a viable argument. And once Verger is out on the streets, I fear he will disappear into the ether.”

Alex blinked numbly, while Bobby let out a breath that came out almost sounding like a snarl. This new piece of information—the terrible thought that, _God forbid_ \- that sadistic monster Verger – could be out on the streets hunting women again, seemed to steel her determination.

“There might be a way… a way to bring this guy out into the open,” she said stepping up to Deakins’ desk. Deakins took his head out of his hands just as Eames unceremoniously, tossed the photos of the victims on his desk. The pictures splayed out like gruesome playing cards, glossy black and white frames capturing the women in their last moments of agony. The two men winced.

Deakins’ eyes fell on the newest photo, little Annie Rogers, and then they rose back up to meet Eames’ circled eyes. He must have seen it. The need—the desperate plea screaming from deep in her battered soul and flickering somewhere in her eyes, because he didn’t hesitate.

“Do it,” Deakins said.

“Do what? I don’t understand,” Carver was looking between Deakins and Eames. Goren had frozen. Every molecule in his body had simply become inanimate the moment he saw the pictures, and the realization crystallizing in Deakins’ eyes. One glance at Eames and his suspicion was validated, all in one heart stopping moment.

_NO…i-it can’t be. She can’t be thinking of…_ Bobby’s mouth went dry.

“I fit the profile. I would make the best lure, to bring him out in the open.” She said.

_Oh God… No. Anybody else..._his stomach lurched.

“It could work,” Carver murmured. His voice was velvety—like warm honey mixed with whiskey, “she could just be an offering… he couldn’t resist.”

Alex had always thought Carver’s was one of those voices so smooth and tranquilizing that listening to him for a long period would lull you to sleep (truth be told, sleep was more likely induced by his haughty tirades, rather than the tenor of his voice), but his comment made her stomach turn. Goren had now moved to stand opposite Carver, so that the two men were on either side of Alex. The heat radiating off her partner was so strong it nearly made her dizzy, and she took a small step back from Ground Zero.

“An _offering_? You want…to put Detective Eames out there for this psychopath, l-like she was… what…” Bobby’s hands began to flail in the air, a definite sign of his frustration at controlling his rapidly growing anger, “a lamb for the altar!”

Caver took a well-advised step back. Taking on Bobby Goren, especially a seething, arm waving, unpredictable and protective Bobby Goren was never a good idea.

“Detective, I didn’t mean…”

“Oh sure, it’s just so easy when YOUR ass is in the crack…DA and the Mayor breathing down your neck. You come down here…to throw one of us into the fire…it’s a helluva lot easier than getting your puckered little ass singed isn’t it?” Goren began to advance on Carver, his head tilted down and to the side, not giving away any of his imposing height yet still able to catch the other man’s eyes.

This was typical of Goren stalking in on a prey/suspect in the interrogation room. It was one thing to watch this behavior from the safety of the observation room—it was quite another to have all of Detective Goren’s presence—his raw _power_ focused on _you_. Deakins had risen from his seat when Goren began to prowl toward a now-sweating Carver, but the sheer energy of Goren devoured the room with such force it nearly sucked the wind from his lungs. Alex had taken another step back, her eyes averted from Bobby, for fear he would suddenly morph before her eyes into the Demon Goren, and rend everyone in the room to bloody shreds. The air actually buzzed with Goren’s energy, like standing too close to a major power line, and Deakins now understood why Robert Goren was as good as he was. The strength of his mind, coupled with the strength of his sheer presence, made Robert Goren an insurmountable force to be reckoned with. And Deakins knew that strength was increased ten-fold, when Alex Eames was fighting by his side.

“Goren, take it easy,” Deakins tried.

“No! Captain...” Goren swiveled fluidly to face Deakins, Caver mopped his brow with this hand, “there has got to be another way! Detective Eames…she can’t…a-after all those women…” Goren shook his head, struggling to dislodge the words. His mind had gone into hyper-drive, all the scenarios, possibilities—most of which were too frightening for him to allow even settling somewhat in his mind ’s eye — were swirling and tumbling over one another, until it was almost impossible for him to seize on one thought and force it from his lips. Unfortunately, the one he grabbed onto would be the one he would ultimately regret uttering.

“She just can’t! This case has …been too hard on her. It’s just too dangerous… this guy…we know too little about him, and that makes the whole scenario that much more unpredictable.” Goren leaned in toward Deakins, his eyes burning with intensity, “You can not put her in this danger, Captain. Too many things could go wrong, and…I might not be able to…”

“When did this become your decision Goren?” The question was so soft, yet held all the force of the howling thunder outside the window - all three men paused.

Alex forced her shoulders back and stared at Goren, unfalteringly. Goren swung his form to meet her gaze, astonishment written on his face.

She took a small step toward Goren, holding his gaze and willing all the hurt and betrayal she was feeling from his remark into his being. Time seemed to slow for Bobby, as Alex came to stand at his side. All the buzzing in his head, the normal raucous noises of the office—all of it faded until the only sound he heard was each shuddering thud of his heart. Alex’s luminous eyes darkened—the tie, the nexus between them that Bobby had been clinging to like a stubborn, frightened child grasping at his last remaining toy—bucked, frayed and finally snapped. Eames might as well have slit Bobby in two with a saber; it would have all felt the same to him.

Turning from an ashen Goren, Eames said, “Let me do my job, Captain. You know it’s the best way we can get this son-of-a-bitch, and make sure Verger stays where he belongs.” She searched Deakins’ grey-blue eyes, “Please…”

Deakins took a deep breath, “She’s right.” He tilted his head toward Goren, who still hadn’t moved, “It’s my decision, and I say this sting is a ‘go’.”

Out in the bullpen, Bobby watched Alex gather her things so she could go home to prepare for her clubbing debut that night. It was already late in the afternoon, and she knew she needed sometime to compose herself (although a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to have prepared her for the display of the lack of faith her “partner” had just shown in her abilities). Alex Eames had never felt so alone. Bobby, still reeling from the shockwaves of the break in their bond, cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uhm…Al-uh - Eames, about what I said…it’s just I don’t think you realize...” but she cut him off--hard.

“You’re right. I didn’t realize what little stock you place in my abilities as a cop,” she nearly spat the words. As she turned to leave, Bobby caught her arm but she wrenched it from his grasp. “Don’t!”

“Alex…” he pleaded, trying anything to get her to stay—to look at him.

“No,” she stated as she backed away from him—away from their severed connection, “I don’t think I can be around you right now. Just leave me alone.” And she turned and left the bullpen.

Bobby was left to stare after her, aching all over. When he finally tore his eyes from the space her form had occupied, he noticed that their little conversation had drawn an audience. But every eye, every gawking head quickly went back to work, after receiving a death-glare from Goren.

He slumped in his chair. He was totally at a loss. _Shit!_ He’d lost _her_. He’d _hurt_ her—no more different than if he’d put his fist in her face and crushed her delicate features beneath his strength. Goren swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at that thought. _“What in the hell had he done?”_

_\--------------------------  
_

_“Loving can cost a lot, but not loving always costs more. Those who fear love often find that the want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy of life.” Merle Shan_

_\--------------------------  
_

Alex drove silently to the meeting place about a block and half from the Vector Room. They had chosen a closed-down dry cleaners store to set up the head quarters for the sting. Eames was to walk to the club, out in the open with no cars or unmarked vans around that might spook the killer. She had to be cast-out like a jig lure, wiggled a little - out in the open for the killer’s enticement. She’d been used for bait before…why should this time be any different?

Alex shuddered as she parked at the headquarters. The difference was that she was completely mentally spent. She had nothing left, cold bareness filled her soul and all she kept seeing was the Demon shackling her hands above her head and preparing her for the altar of blood. He ran his hand over every inch of her body, savoring the feeling of her flesh—his huge muscles quivered with excitement as he pressed the length of his massive body against hers, crushing her into the stone wall he’d chained her to. She stared into nothingness, her will to resist him dying away. He sensed this, and it only made his arousal grow. The monster with Bobby’s face bent his head to her ear—his breath hot as it wafted across her skin, “You’re giving in. What a wonderful way to offer yourself, offer your _soul_ to me,” he thrusted his hips violently against her nakedness, “We will consummate you’re offering on that altar, Alex. You’re going to love it… Alex,”

“Hey Alex, com’on!”

Alex was jolted out of her terror at the sound of Detective Connelly calling her to come inside.

Inside, surveillance gadgets and officers were crammed into every nook and cranny. As Eames walked in, clad in a black above-the-knee nylon/spandex skirt with a slit in the side that crawled up to her hip; a matching black stretch top, which tied behind her neck, but left the back totally bare save for the few strings that criss-crossed her, holding the fabric to her skin (sort of); the front plunged in a V that ended just below her breast bone; stiletto knee-high boots and her leather jacket. Every male eye gave her an approving once-over. She, however, was too numb to care that they were ogling her, and made her way to Deakins.

Everyone gathered around Deakins as he gave them the particulars of where everyone was to be and who was doing what. Eames didn’t even notice Goren sitting off to the side—shrouded in shadows—and she didn’t have to. She knew he was there, even with their preternatural tie broken, Goren’s presence was still a constant hum she felt radiate through her skin.

There were to be only two other cops inside the club with Eames, Goren and a young guy named Jarret. Goren was to stay on the second-floor loft—so he could survey the crowd. After all, if anyone could profile and spot the guy first, it would be Goren. Two other cops were dressed as hobos, and were stationed near the dumpsters half way down the street from the entrance, to watch the comings and goings of the patrons. One last officer - another hobo - was to be at the corner of the alley that ran along the back of the club, to watch the back door exit. Every officer had a wire with an earpiece, except Eames—it was deemed too risky for her to be wired if she was to come in ‘close contact’ with the subject.

Alex turned just as she left the base, noticing Bobby emerging from the shadows. He looked…well…beautiful, in a midnight tee-shirt under a buck-skin tan leather jacket and crisp black chinos. His back boots were thick soled, probably adding an inch to his towering frame. His stubble still framed his jaw, but his eyes still shown through the darkness—and a horrible sadness pulsed from him. Through her emptiness, her shut-off emotions…Alex couldn’t help the flicker of attraction that fluttered in her stomach. Bobby had always carried a casual, alluring sex appeal when he dressed for out-of-the-office affairs; of course he himself was never aware of it. He said nothing to her, though never removed his eyes from hers—even as Deakins whispered something to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He nodded once, and moved away.

A light drizzle had begun as Alex reached the club. The lantern-jawed gorilla of a bouncer waved her in. Goren and Jarret had arrived a few minutes before her, in order to take up their positions and scan the multitude of scantily-clothed co-eds and college frat guys. Alex spent her walk down to the club telling herself mentally over and over that she could do this—that she had to do this—for it might just be the only way for her to save herself.

The bass was so loud it pounded her chest, making her wonder why the entire college age community wasn’t deaf. Strobe lights flickered, neon lit up the bar area with a blue-chrome glow. The place was packed, just as Matt the Bartender had predicted. He was behind the bar, twirling liquor bottles with all the finesse of Tom Cruise in that bar movie—whose name escaped Alex at the moment. She made her way to the bar, weaving in and out around the dance floor, occasionally getting felt-up by some roving hand, until she found a seat at the end of the bar to wait. Alex immediately spotted Jarret.

_“Yep…he’s definitely a rookie. A stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb rookie…with no rhythm,_” she thought as she watched a hapless Jarret jig around in the corner in some pitiful attempt to move with the music. The people on the dance floor had no problem with the beat, their bodies sliding in supple rhythm—like making love on the dance floor. Alex wondered if her joints would allow her to do that, but to her defense, there were some people in there close to her age. No need to look around for Goren, she knew where he was.

Bobby was leaning against the wrought-iron railing of the second-floor loft—surveying the scene like a lord looking down on his subjects. Couples were making out (and a lot more) on the couches behind him, but he scarcely noticed. His attention was focused fully on a certain petite detective, wearing an outfit that nearly sent him to his knees the first time she walked in.

_“God…”_ he thought, _“Why did she have to wear that?”_ His eyes lingered on the cleavage her top was showing off, and the way the slit in her skirt inched up to places he’d dreamed of exploring with his figures. Bobby could feel the slow flush slinking up his neck, and he took a swig of his drink—which was supposed to be water, but he wondered if Matt the Bartender might have slipped something into it after they gave him a hard time earlier.

_“Okay…looking for white male, late twenties to early thirties. Probably thin build, awkward features, but a confident presence. He’s a sweet-talker, so he’s got to be sure of himself…_ Bobby’s eyes and mind wandered helplessly back to Alex. _“God Alex, what can I do to prove to you how much I believe in you—how much our partnership means to us…how worried I’ve been about you…”_ Bobby blinked a few times as his normal profiling processes took a wide left turn into something else.

When Alex Eames pulled away from him with that one final jerk, she took with her much more than a friendship or closeness. She severed a part of Bobby Goren’s soul…a part of his inner-most being. A plant cannot exist without its roots, giving sustenance and support. Without her, Bobby free-falls into the abyss, with no grounding elements, no net, no one to infuse him with her confidence and strength.

Bobby’s chest constricted suddenly, violently—and he griped the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. It just hit him, like the proverbial lightning bolt—without Alex, Bobby can never hope to be whole again. His eyes returned to Alex, as she leaned on the bar in sultry confidence, and he wondered how he could have been so dense.

When exactly did he fall in love with his partner? In love—that was the only way he could describe it—for this went beyond caring about her as just a friend or partner…waaay beyond. That old saying must be true…Love does indeed come softly. That petite, witty, strong, amazing woman had woven herself so deeply within his being; he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He needed Eames—that’s simply all there was to it. Only problem was how to reconnect with her—for she made it abundantly clear she wanted no part of him. Bobby stared into his cup, wondering if she felt the same way, deep down about him, not realizing just how much she really needed him. He also missed the man in the blue sweater making a beeline toward Alex.

_“Suck it up girl! Get your head out of this mind-funk and into the game_,” Alex throttled herself.

She took a sip of her water and turned back around; only to come face to face with the most striking pair of green eyes she’d ever seen. She blinked once to regroup, and then took in the rest of the new comer’s features. He flashed a brilliant smile.

“Hi,” he said, he leaned in to be heard, “I’m Jack!”

His eyes were the most vivid shade of sea green, offset my dark eyebrows and think black lashes. His face had a rugged, chiseled handsomeness—a strong square chin, ready smile with a couple of dimples. He was about six one, Alex guessed, with a good athletic build, but not overly muscular. His biceps certainly didn’t fill out his sweater sleeves like Bobby’s. Jack’s hair was jet black, longish on top but swept back, leaving only an errant strand accenting his forehead. His navy blue sweater and blue jeans seemed to fit his demeanor…right down to his Dockers boots. All in all, quite handsome for a thirty-something club-hopper.

Alex smiled, “I’m Alex.” She felt herself strangely hypnotized by this man’s eyes. _“He can’t be the one. He’s too…normal. Nothin’ creepy… no ‘I’m-gonna-rape-you-and-gut-you-like-a-fish’ vibes from him.”_

They continued the small talk, Jack leaning into her personal space—and Alex smiling coyly, laughing at his jokes. She learned his last name was Strider, which brought images of some rakish cowboy hero, or some fantasy sword-slinger to her mind. Suddenly, Jack took Alex’s hand, bowed slightly and gave her a ‘come-hither’ look as he guided her onto the dance floor.

Bobby, of course, had gone into full alert—Def-Con Three mode. He cataloged every nuance about Jack - from his head movements, to the way he shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight toward Eames. If only he could see his eyes, or hear what they were saying (although he knew what was going on in the conversation. Years of manly experience, interacting with women in bars told him that Jack was hitting on Eames). Bobby narrowed his eyes studying Jack as they moved onto the dance floor.

Alex had removed her jacket, hanging it on a coat rack near the back exit. The supple white flesh of her bare back beckoned men to caress the soft curves of her shoulder blade muscles, her lower latissimus dorsi, and continue on down. Jack drew her to him, pressing her length fully against his front—his arm snaked its way around to her bare lower back. Alex shuttered a little; his hands and skin were freezing! Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was the fact that she felt totally devoid of feeling and hope…or maybe her will to give a damn just flew out the window a while back, Alex didn’t know. But she had silenced the detective voice inside that always spouts reason - she let her guard down. Because before all of these mind-raping, soul-sucking nightmares had stomped her psyche into the dirt and snuffed out lit cigarettes on it—the Alex Eames from before would have never let a strange guy put his hand on her and grind with her like Jack was doing. She just kept staring into those enthralling green eyes.

The cup in Bobby’s hand crumpled and cracked into shards under his horrific grip. His teeth ground together inside his jaw, causing the muscle outside to quiver. His breath had become shallow—his heart rate skyrocketed, and his eyes narrowed. Bobby Goren simply didn’t react this way. He’s always kept his emotions under control, except for the times when Eames was there, as always, to snap him back and calm his storm with a simple look. He didn’t know what it was like, to feel his blood boiling—to want to snap another human being in two, with his bare hands. To feel his heart—which had already shattered when Eames gave him the soul equivalent of an upper-cut to the jaw—smolder with jealousy. _“Oh yea, Bobby-ma’boy…Jealousy!__ Interesting isn’t it?”_ the voice in his head whispered.

Every time the man’s hands slid down Alex’s back, feeling every inch of the curve of her spine—roaming down to cup her ass as he pulled her hips into his with the thrusting rhythm of the bass—drove Bobby even more insane. He nearly leapt off the balcony (to hell with the fucking sting, and screw what Deakins would do) and tackled Jack so he could tear his arms from their sockets and beat the shit out of him—when he saw Jack twirl Eames around so that her butt was now grinding into his front. His hands roamed up her stomach, over her breasts and then back down, as she arched her back in unison with his hip thrusts.

This man, whoever the hell he was, had no idea a seething bear of a man half mad with jealousy was but a few feet above him—plotting demented ways to torture the human body and still keep it alive for the longest period of time. Bobby might have been angry with Alex as well; that maybe she was getting a little “too much” into character as a lure…if it weren’t for the fact that watching her body move in sensual, fluid arches was causing his arousal to become painfully obvious below his belt.

Agitated, Bobby began to pace the balcony, running his hand over his face and through his hair trying desperately to regroup. Suddenly a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Easy big guy, it’s just me,” said Deakins when Bobby whirled around. “What’s the matter? Ya didn’t know she was that good?”

Deakins chuckled, in a knowing-father way—he’d seen Goren edging to the breaking point and decided he’d better reel the seething detective back in—before something really bad happened.

Bobby heaved a sigh and stopped fidgeting. He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “I knew she was good…from Vice, but…I’ve never seen her in-in this way.” He suddenly felt like he’d been caught looking at his brother’s porn magazines, and dad had just walked in. Deakins smiled as Bobby stared at his shoes for a moment.

On the floor, Alex was in autopilot mode. She wasn’t thinking, just feeling. Feeling Jack’s hands sliding over her body; the tenor of the music as it thrummed through her senses. It was almost intoxicating. So she didn’t see Jack withdraw a pen-like object from his pants. She only felt a slight prick, as he jabbed the small hypo-needle into the back of her neck. Then, the room became a blur of sounds and globby shadows.

Alex felt like she was floating somewhere outside of her body—watching Jack guide her stealthily to the back door. Somewhere in her brain a voice screeched, _“ALEX! Snap out of it woman! It’s HIM! Stop him, get away…Do Something Idiot!”_ But her arms and legs felt like melted rubber, as Jack edged her into the alley. If she could only make some noise…the other cops on the street would hear. Alex looked into Jack’s face, and the Demon stared back—his eyes glowing green now. She didn’t know how her fist managed to move that fast, but the satisfying _smack_ made from knuckles connecting with teeth let her know she’d landed a square punch.

What she did not prepare for was the retaliating boom of Jack’s fist landing across her mouth. One really does see stars from a hard blow to the head—and the backlash thud of her skull crashing into the wall behind made her stomach heave into her throat.

Gasping, Alex slumped forward—blood sprayed out of her mouth thick and warm as she choked on her tears.

“Feisty aren’t we? Don’t worry love; there’ll be plenty of time for that. Now. Move.” Strider hauled her up by the shoulder and walked her into the blackness of the ally. Alex sputtered more blood onto the ground—unable to scream as the drugs made her more and more malleable Thunder shook the buildings.

Bobby had not been watching the dance floor. Only a couple of minutes…that was all. When his gaze fell on the floor below, the world stopped. She was gone. And the man—that _bastard_ was gone too.

Bobby Goren didn’t breathe. _“Oh God.”_ He didn’t think. _“He’s got her.”_ He was there, the whole time…right in front of their noses and dancing with Eames.

“HE TOOK HER,” Goren thundered as he flew down the stairs. Deakins paled as he realized what Bobby had seen. He radioed the other team members.

Goren barreled through the young dancers, knocking people over without even a second glance. His piercing gaze scanned the room. Frantically he ran to the nearest exit—into the back alley. It was cold and silent except for the rain, which was now pelting Goren’s leather jacket. He yelled her name, but received only the sound of thunder as an answer.

Goren looked down, noticing something near his boot. Panic seized his heart causing each beat to feel like an ice spear was being repeatedly plunged into his chest. All of his training, all the research in the universe, all of his brilliant psychological profiles and genius insight—meant nothing now. He stood stark still and stared down…lost.

And the rain was slowly washing the small pools of her blood away—as if trying to erase her from existence.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

_“If we deny love that is given to us, if we refuse to give love because we fear pain or loss, then our lives will be empty—our loss greater.” Unknown_

_“The dark is everywhere; and though the sun comes up, and though the fires blossom and are tamed; the darkness is there—the darkness is waiting.” Unknown_

Some people never experience the sensation of truly being in the dark. The sensations of utter hollowness—loneliness. To be able to fully understand, at last, what you had in front of you all the time—but let it slip through your fingers. Like trying to grasp the rain in your hands. Bobby Goren can tell you about those feelings. He’s been living in quasi-darkness all his life—retreating into his mind with all the suffocating fears pressing down on his soul. But there was a ray of light that passed into his life, making the shadows lurking in the darkness shy away. And now, she had been spirited away from his grasp, by a monster in a dark blue sweater. Bobby Goren had teetered on the brink before, but this was the closest he’s ever come to Hell.

Goren heard footsteps sloshing in the rain bearing down on him. He knew the other team members were called in by Deakins, but he didn’t care. He just remained…still.

“Goren! What happened?” one asked.

“God man, I’m sorry,” the cop who was supposed to be stationed at the end of this alley started, “there was a traffic altercation—just near me. I guess it just…I don’t know …distracted me! I’m sorry, I should have been here.”

“Damn straight you should have been here,” Deakins bellowed above the rain. He continued to rant at the younger officers as Goren slowly moved away.

Deakins suddenly became aware that Goren was speaking—muttering to himself, his head down and the rain dripping off his soaked hair. Deakins moved to Goren’s side.

“Bobby?”

“It’s my fault. Should have…seen it. Should have seen…him.” Bobby brought both hand to his head, tilting it back up toward the heavens as if to channel his anguish to God.

“Bobby…come on, focus here. We’ll find her…he can’t have gotten far. He’s not a fuckin’ ghost.” Deakins was wary at Goren’s side, afraid to get caught in the explosion what looked to be immanent from Goren’s presence. He turned from Goren, heading back to the other police officers who were gathering at the street.

Bobby’s hands fell from his temples, his face solidifying into some resolution he’d come to. _“He’s not a ghost. And Alex would have fought him…made it hard for him… e-even through the drugs. Only way he could have gotten her out at all was with drugs. Com’on Bobby! Think. Damnit!”_

Suddenly his long legs spread into a dead sprint in the opposite direction from the street—further into the darkness of the maze of alleys.

_“He’d take her to the nearest safe place. A place…he’s prepared, with easy access. Quiet, alone. It’s a damn warehouse district after all!”_

_\--_

_“It’s not that we fear the place of darkness, but we don’t think we are worth the effort to find the place of light.” Hugh Prather_

_\--_

The blood in her mouth tasted salty, coppery. The floor was cold and hard, and Alex had to force her muscles to cooperate in order to sit up. Her back found a place against the wall, obviously where Strider had flung her after they entered this place. Tilting her head up slowly, to fight the rising nausea, Alex knew she had to get a bearing on her surroundings—as well as on her captor.

One eye was swollen shut, but she managed to open the other. _“Warehouse,”_ she thought, _“Abandoned. I can’t be far from the club.”_ Her head straightened, pinching with pain when one thought entered her mind, _“BOBBY.”_

“Wake-ie, wake-ie ‘_Luv_,” Striders voice was calm as he crouched over Alex’s head. “You’ve rested enough. I want you awake to enjoy all the fun.”

Alex grunted as she lashed her foot out in a flailing attempt to kick the bastard. Her hands were bound behind her back, so she couldn’t punch or move. Strider dodged her kick smoothly.

“Stop it bitch!” Strider landed another crushing blow to Alex’s jaw. She coughed and sputtered, trying to spit out some curse—only another think glob of blood spurt from her mouth. Not a good sign. The drugs and the bludgeoning to the head were making Alex see things. As Strider leaned in, running his hands up her legs and thighs—up her skirt, Alex watched as the handsome features morphed into the green-eyed Demon. This demon was different than the Monster Goren of her night-terrors. He was smaller, of course, with a sheath of skin that resembled scales. Alex swore she could see the outline of leathery, spidery wings splayed behind him in the darkness. She turned her head away. Horrifyingly, she wondered if she was looking into the face of an incarnation of Satan.

Strider’s hands continued to roam her body, working her skirt off and purring about how much he was going to enjoy “getting in her”.

“I’m a cop,” she stated, although with her mouth swollen it came out more like ‘_Mmm’ah__ cop’_.

“You’re what?” Strider stopped cold, and for the first time she thought she saw a little fear in his eyes.

“A cop… _dickhead_.” Her head then lolled to the side, landing on the ground. Gazing past Strider’s form, Alex saw what looked to be a bed of some kind—though even with the clean coverings, she could see the smatterings of blood. The altar—the one Monster Goren promised to consummate their connection on—sprang to her mind. _“So this is it. This is how it’s gonna end huh? Running from one monster, straight into the arms of another you didn’t see coming. You’re one great freakin’ cop, Alex.”_

“That figures,” Strider sighed, as he lifted a prostrate Alex from the grimy floor—bringing her to the bed, “all you stupid whores think you can obtain power in one way or another. What you don’t understand is,” he paused and looked down at her, “God created Man. And Woman was created, to service Man. Sub-serviant, an object for one thing only. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Alex hung there in his arms, fading into nothingness. She wanted to die right there, anything to ease her pain. The ‘fight’ was oozing out of her, and Strider knew it.

“You are nothing, ya know,” he said with a feral smile, “you belong—to me.”

“WRONG!” The voice echoed and resonated in the cavernous building, making it sound like the voice of God himself. Strider jumped—almost dropping Alex—and whirled around.

\-------------------------

Goren stood, feet firmly planted in firing stance—his huge black nine-millimeter at shoulder height, aimed at Strider’s eyes. He had shrugged out of his leather coat, but the rain still glistened on his enormous bare forearms. His black shirt was clinging to his torso, exposing every muscle of his broad chest flexed and ready.

As if reading Striders mind, Goren stated simply, “You made it easy for me. This building was the only one with a working electric meter this close to the club.” Bobby flicked his eyes to the two lone light bulbs that cast a dim light over the room.

Strider’s jaw clenched.

Bobby kept his face neutral, belying the storm that was raging in his soul. This guy could easily have a knife in a hand under Alex, and he could also be planning to use her as a shield. Bobby forced himself not to look upon the damage that was Alex’s face and body. He knew if he did…all bets were off.

Strider slowly bent down, Bobby’s gun tracing his every move. He took a step toward Strider.

Alex was placed at Strider’s feet, laying on her back as if she were and offering for sacrifice. She didn’t offer to move, and Bobby’s heart seized. Yet he could feel she was still alive, he knew his heart probably would have ceased to beat at the same time her own stopped—so at least she had a chance.

Strider splayed his hands out as Bobby advanced a little more on him.

“You wouldn’t shoot and unarmed man would you…officer?” Bobby blinked a little too slowly, and Strider caught it. “Ah, you must be her partner,” he cocked his head, almost Goren-like, “Maybe… something more than just her partner, eh?”

“You’re one sick puppy, you know that,” Goren tried to regroup, turn the tables, “you have a real hatred of women Mr…”

“Strider.” He answered in a low tone as he back a step or so from Alex. She had turned her head toward Bobby, but her eyes were blank—motionless.

Bobby let a little grin spread on his lips. He was beginning the ‘Game’.

“All that anger…frustration. The way you cut them—messy. Not as surgical as Verger…he probably didn’t give you extra points for that, did he?”

“Verger was sad,” something in Striders eyes changed. It was his ‘Tell”--his flinch. It was the subtle piece Goren was watching for, the way to get in. “Verger didn’t understand what the true meaning was… what those women were really there for.”

“Degradation,” Bobby said almost hushed. His eyes worked up and down Strider, his mind cranking in understanding. “Putting them in their…their place...for good.”

“Yes,” Strider’s face almost lit up, he was making someone else see his views. “That’s right. That’s were they are meant to be! It’s where God meant them to be—beneath us, beneath men…good for one thing.”

“One thing…” Bobby muttered as if lost in a fog. His gun had even lowered itself a little, and Strider seized the opportunity. His arm flew blindingly behind himself producing a small gun—which he aimed at Alex’s small frame.

“She’s mine!” he spat. “She’s going back to God _after_ I put her in her rightful place!”

Bobby’s head and gun snapped up—his eyes locking with Strider’s. Alex watched as Bobby’s form melded and morphed into the hulking Monster, with the rippling muscles and glowing eyes that had raped her internally. Out of the corner of her eye, the green-eyed Satanic Strider faced off under the looming beast of Goren.

Bobby saw the decision in Strider’s eyes crystallize—his finger slowly tightening on the trigger. All motion and sound ceased. Alex saw fire explode from the Monster Goren, follow by a deafening roar—which she didn’t know came from the combination of the gun and Goren’s voice.

Three shots, hammered into Strider’s chest, producing plumes of scarlet. His finger squeezed off a shot, but it went off to the side as he fell to his knees.

“God is _not_ where _you’re_ going,” Bobby growled as he connected eyes with the dying Strider. He fell in a crumpled heap, a few feet from Alex.

Alex felt herself being lifted up by monstrous arms. She heard words, but they were coming to her through a think stifling fog—blurred and garbled. Someone was stroking her head tenderly, and she tried to focus on the face. Only for a second, did the Monster Goren look back at her. Then, the features melted away, leaving only Bobby’s soft eyes and frightened face.

Bobby searched her eyes. But the fire, the strength he was so accustomed to—what he loved to see sparkling and glittering in those dark eyes—was fading out.

“Alex? Com’on Alex, please…” his voice faltered - it was so soft…for her ears only, “God, please…” He bent his head to hers; his eyes squeezed shut as he softly beseeched God. “She’s all I have. She’s my life-line. Don’t let her leave me.”

Alex murmured - her breath airy, “Bobby?”

Bobby lifted his head, gazing unabashedly into her eyes. Every emotion, everything he’d felt stirring and battering his soul—radiated in his eyes. He couldn’t hide them as he normally would, and for once he didn’t care. He felt their link, fluttering in the wind—it was just out of his reach still, but it was there.

\-------------

The police descended on the scene like a horde. Everyone from SWAT, down to the fellow detectives of Major Case who shared office space with Goren and Eames, had come to join in the search for their fellow officer. It was that Blue Wall of Loyalty to your fellow officer, some detectives looked like they had obviously thrown clothes on after jumping out of bed—they simply needed to be out there, helping.

Alex was taken to an ambulance, where the medics checked her wounds and gave her something to counter-act the drugs in her system. She sat numbly allowing the medics to work on her. Bobby had to be pried from her—so the medics could look at her. He wasn’t far—standing off to the side letting Deakins talk while his eyes stayed firmly planted on Alex.

Deakins had been able (albeit not easily) to garner the information and details of the slaying of Strider. He wasn’t about to question it. The ordeal was written all over his best detective’s face. Deakins’ gaze followed Goren’s to the ambulance, where a small and very fragile looking Alex sat—staring into the night. She hadn’t said a word, except to tell Bobby it was alright to leave her for the medics to check.

“She had a few pretty bad head wounds. That coupled with the drugs…” he paused and turned to Goren, “she’s gonna have to stay with someone tonight. She can’t be alone.”

“She won’t be alone,” Bobby replied softly, tilting his head slightly to Deakins.

“Good.” Deakins smiled. “I’ll bring her to your place as soon as she’s released. You should go home… you know…clean up.” He patted Goren’s shoulder, good-natured humor tinting his voice, “You look like shit.”

He walked off just as Bobby’s brows knitted together—the joke finally sinking in—and he glanced Deakins’ way with a small smirk.

Alex tilted her head ever so slightly. Had she heard right? Or was it the drugs making her hallucinate?

_“Spending the night…at Bobby’s?”_

\------

_“A friendship that like love is warm. A love, like friendship is steady.” Charles Lamb_

\-------

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

****

_“Tenderness emerges from the fact that the two persons, longing as all individuals do, to overcome the separateness and isolation to which we are all heir because we are individuals; can participate in a relationship that, for the moment, is not of two isolated selves—but a union.” Rollo May_

_“Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish. Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.” Charles Lamb_

There is hope in the darkness. One has to have faith, that in the blackness of despair and doubt, there will be a hand that reaches down and lifts you up. There will be a shoulder to cry on—an arm to shelter under. Even if you think you are alone, somewhere there is a heart just waiting to be reconnected to yours. Even if you think your walk through Hell has been in isolation, that no one could understand what you’ve been through—his heart was beside yours all the time—living your pain and feeling your sorrow in tandem with you. Some connections simply run that deep.

 The rain had slowed to a drizzle when Captain Deakins’ sedan pulled up to the curb. Mist rose from the grates and sewer openings from the drop in temperature, giving the streets an ethereal haze.

It was quiet. The walkers and business people long since retreated to the sanctity of their warm homes and warm families. Secretly, Alex Eames envied them—having a warm, inviting place to come home to everyday. And not having to be alone.

 “You need me to carry your bag up there for you, Alex?” Deakins’ soft voice broke Alex out of her reverie. He had waited patiently for the paramedics to see to her wounds at the crime scene, and then firmly yet not overbearingly informed her that she would have to stay with someone tonight.

She had started to protest, but the medics backed Deakins up—she’d had a few hard blows to the head and had been dosed full of some pretty strange barbiturates. Deakins had brought her to her own apartment so she could grab a few things, and then offhandedly informed her she’d be staying with Goren. At this, Alex stared hard at Deakins, but it just confirmed what she’d thought to be an auto-hallucination before. And Deakins’ grey-blue eyes sent the definite message not to argue with him.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll manage,” she finally replied.

She paused in her seat, as if trying to decide how to go about getting out of the car. She was unsure how to proceed — as if she hadn’t been up to Goren’s apartment a hundred times, working late on files or taking him up on an offer to cook dinner after a long case.

It felt strange, out of sync — like she was being dropped off at some new kid’s house for a slumber party.

 “Alex, you in there?” Deakins prompted softly.

“Yeah, yeah…uh, thanks for the ride Captain.”

Deakins put a hand on her arm just as she was sliding out of the passenger seat. She looked to him questioningly.

“He went through hell tonight too, Alex. Remember that,” he said with a half smile on his weary face.

Alex’s eyes softened a little — she hadn’t really thought of it that way. She nodded silently and left the car, the door closing echoed through the street. Alex watched in the drizzle as Deakins drove away — back to his warm house and family, and she sighed. She walked up the stoop and into the building with her overnight bag. She’d walked these fights of stairs so many times, but this time she had this odd feeling of anxiety in her gut. Sure, going to Goren’s late at night was nothing new. Spending the night—now that was something new!

 ---------------

_“Friendship needs no words—it is a loneliness relived of the anguish of loneliness.” Dag Hammarskjold _

 -------------

Bobby had almost come to the point of pacing back and forth across his living room in anticipation. Well, actually he was _already_ pacing, he’d just put it off as long as he could. He’d already showered and changed, leaving his wet leather coat to dry on the hanger near his door, and was now wearing some comfortable blue jeans and a camel colored crew necked sweater. There was a fresh pot of coffee brewing, and he’d dug out and extra blanket and pillow for the couch.

Being the gentleman he was, Bobby would, of course, be sleeping on the couch, while Alex took his large queen sized bed. Bobby stopped pacing—his arms crossed and one hand resting at his mouth—as he stared down the hall to his bedroom. The ache struck him so violently it nearly caught his breath; an ache to see Alex’s small frame snuggled under his grey cotton covers on her side—a bare leg tantalizingly slung on top of the sheets. The ach grew stronger, slowly working its way south as he saw himself—spooned up behind Alex, his huge arms wrapped protectively around her, his face near her hair breathing in her intoxicating scent.

Bobby shook his head, scrubbing his large hands over his gritty cheeks. He should not be having these fantasies, especially not now.

_I nearly lost her for God’s sake! She was nearly…gone…forever_…Bobby swallowed that horrifying thought back down. There was no way he was going to let himself think about what might have happened had he not found the right warehouse. He placed a shaky hand on his counter, steadying himself. He knew somewhere along the way, their connection had been broken—their delicate balance up heaved.  The ache inside turned to longing.

Longing for that nexus between the Goren/Eames duo to be re-solidified—the cement re-applied. Bobby wanted to go back to where they were, and yet, he so desperately wanted so much more than what they simply had before. He didn’t just want his partner and friend back—he wanted Alex. He wanted the Alex he oh-so-recently discovered he’d fallen in love with—kinda like discovering the ocean is wet. _Obviously_!

The doorbell rang and Bobby nearly knocked their mugs off the counter. He opened the door to find Alex standing on the other side, glancing up at him for a moment with a partial smile—then returning her eyes to her shoes.

 “Hey,” Bobby whispered.

“Hey,” Alex returned just as softly. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and moved past Bobby while he held the door open.

Bobby closed the door and fought down the blind fury that had gushed up when he saw the damage to Alex’s face. She had a blue-black eye and a few cuts on her left cheek and forehead. There was a cut at the edge of her lower lip, where Strider’s fists had struck home. She looked so damn small.

Alex placer her bag down near the couch and turned to face Bobby. When they locked eyes, Bobby searched them for that spark of the ol’ Eames—and for that string of connection he’d felt floating just out side his grip. Alex sighed; she knew what he was searching her eyes for. He was searching for _her_, and she too had felt the bond break; only she had been battling the monster in her mind at the time. She pushed a strand of hair away, Bobby tilting his head in his ‘studying manner’ as he looked as if he were searching for his voice.

“I’m okay, Bobby. They stitched me up and gave me some drugs,” she leaned back on his couch. “They just want someone to…I guess…look after me tonight. Guess they’re afraid I might croak during the night or something.”

Bobby felt the breath he didn’t know he was holding whoosh out in a short laugh. _There it was… that little bit of Alex coming back._ A smile flitted across Alex’s face, but it was no match to the full-gleaming grin Bobby gave her. That wonderful, little-boy grin she loved. Alex felt herself becoming more relaxed as he moved toward her a little.

“Well, we can’t let that happen, can we,” Bobby chuckled. “I got some coffee going, you want a cup?”

Alex smiled a yes and moved to walk along Bobby’s immense bookshelf along the far wall of his living room. The man had a library in itself there at home; she wondered how his library card got such a workout. Alex turned her gaze to Bobby as he fixed their coffee. She wondered how many cups they had shared over conversations. Bobby would probably be able to give her the exact number. She suddenly found herself looking at Bobby—_really _looking at him. There he was—in his casual attire that somehow he made seem like the sexiest thing he could’ve possibly put on. Her eyes lingered over the breadth of his massive shoulders, the taper of his waist and how he filled out the backside of those jeans just right. The way his deft and graceful fingers moved the cups around—and she wondered how soft a touch he really had (if he were touching something other than crime scene material). Before she knew it, Alex flipped on his stereo system, and the soft melodies of Nora Jones wafted through the apartment.

Bobby turned suddenly at the sound of the music, and Alex just shrugged, pushing her hair back again almost nervously, “It was a little quite. Thought some music would be nice, I hope you don’t mind.” She’d never turned his electronics on before, and she wondered if he’d mind her touching his things. Bobby can be kind of weird sometimes about the place and order of his things. She’d seen how organized his brown notebook was.

“No that’s…that’s fine. It’s great actually…I…I like her music.”

“Me too.” And they both smiled.

Bobby and Alex sat on his couch in silence while they enjoyed their coffee and listened to the music. Alex had pulled her shoes off so she could curl her feet underneath herself as she always did, and Bobby found himself staring again. In faded blue jeans and a light grey V-necked sweater, Alex would have seemed very comfortable to anyone but New York’s most observant detective. Bobby thought she looked, well, beautiful in her normal understated way—and yet he could feel her tenseness. It stung him harder than he thought; she’d never been uncomfortable in his place before.

Questions were beginning to buzz in his head: he wanted to know what had been happening to her lately, what she’d been seeing in her minds eye when she’d looked at him, what Strider had said to her…would she mind terribly if he made the simple request that she sleep naked and allow him to entangle every inch of his long body around hers. He frowned at the turn his mind had taken—again.

Bobby wanted more than anything to grab onto that connection and tie it around his soul again, where it belonged.  He wanted to drown in those dark eyes and see the fire of Alex Eames burning within them—and maybe something of the same feelings for him that he was feeling for her. Though he did not know how, Bobby Goren desperately wanted to pull her out of her shadows and fight whatever demons had driven her from him. He hated himself—for his inability to protect her, for not sucking it up and stepping out of his damned mind long enough to convey to her how important she is to him. Some bumbling-ass Knight in Shining Armor he turned out to be.

“It’s not your fault Bobby.” He voice was so soft and yet so close, Bobby though he was simply hearing it in his head, like always. So he was astonished to find Alex had scooted closer to his side and was staring gently into his dark eyes.

 “How-?”

“C’mon Bobby, I could hear your thoughts clear across the room. I know you blame yourself for what happened, but you shouldn’t.” She looked down at her hands, “You were there… you were always there. I just couldn’t see.”

Bobby’s heart was in his throat, but he leaned in so his mouth was hovering just above the cut on her right temple. Oh, to be able to just crush her in an embrace that would never end—to take her to his bed and make love to her until she fully understood how she was a part of his soul. But he was scared, for this was uncharted territory they were heading into now.

“The Verger cases,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the outline of her cheek and jaw, “you have been fighting demons since the beginning of those murders, haven’t you?”

Alex continued to look at her hands, but when the first silent tear came unwillingly down her cheek—Bobby’s heart wrenched so painfully in his chest he nearly choked.

Alex knew she had been holding this misery in far too long. She was crumbling inside, and now it was showing outside for the world to see—and she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t want to be strong anymore. She started slightly when she felt Bobby’s finger touched the paths of her tears with a gentleness she didn’t know he possessed. Slowly he tilted her face to his eyes, and Alex almost gasped at the emotion awash in those deep orbs.

Bobby held her face in both his hands, marveling at just how her face was dwarfed in his palms. She didn’t need to tell him of her nightmares, how she had been mentally raped over and over—it was all written in her eyes.

“I was afraid of you,” she said finally. Bobby’s brows came together in confusion, as his thumbs continued to wipe her coming tears. “I was afraid of you for a while…the monsters in my mind…they just got all jumbled up. Distorted.” She pulled her face from his grasp, yet kept his hand in hers as she tried to find some explanation.

She couldn’t tell him that somehow, it was his image that had melded into a monster and raped her in her nightmares—that some stupid look-alike in a dumb-ass movie had mutated in her mind and caused her to pull away from the man she most cared about. The man she loved. Telling him something like that—that one of those demons he’d mentioned she’d fought in her head had _his_ face—that would have crushed him in ways she couldn’t even imagine.

“I couldn’t make head or tails of anything, Bobby.” He’d moved even closer to Alex, stroking her face and watching her eyes intently.

“So you tried to push me away,” he said softly. When she looked at him, her eyes were a silent apology and a plea. Bobby’s lips curved into a sad smile. “You should’ve known better. I don’t give up that easily.”

 --------------------

_“Gentleness is a divine trait. Nothing is so divine as gentleness and nothing is so gentle as real strength.” Ralph W. Sockman_

 ----------------------

Their connection, their bond was in his grasp and Bobby Goren was not about to let it slip through his fingers. He was going to clamp on with both hands. With a little flutter of insecurity in his stomach, he moved closer to her lips. Alex remained still, her own stomach writhing with nervous butterflies.

 Their lips grazed over each other in the lightest feather kiss. Heat sparked and sizzled down Bobby’s spine like nothing he’d ever experienced. He pulled back slightly, searching Alex’s eyes for fear or hesitation. All he saw was the same surprise his eyes must have shown; obviously she’d felt the same spark as well.

Then the surprise melted away into muted desire. Alex felt it bubble up from deep inside, she wanted him—she wanted him to save her again. She wanted him to forget about all the consequences and worries, all the little scenarios that cluttered his famous mind when it went into overdrive. _Don’t think. Feel_.

Bobby saw it, he saw it and he understood it—and for once he silenced the questioning voices in his mind. He was going to think with his heart this time. He plunged into Alex’s lips, this time channeling his passion in. His tongue teased her mouth open, exploring and tasting—and she welcomed him in. He pulled her to him, snaking his long, muscular arms around her back feeling the muscle and soft skin under her shirt. She in turn, moved her hands slowly up his chest—she wanted to savor every feeling of his broad, thick chest—she’d wanted to see how it felt for years.

Bobby wanted her even closer, and as he pulled her into his lap, her weight settled perfectly between his legs. Alex felt the heat and swelling hardness of his erection suddenly, and a moan escaped her throat. _“Oh shit! So the speculations were true!”_ She smiled as she kissed him—the thought of how the female rumor-mill at One Police Plaza figured Goren was as “well endowed” as he was big and tall—was definitely true! She decided to take her own “measurements” by letting her hand fall to his crotch, her fingers playing lightly over the stretched fabric—and shuttered as Bobby growled into her mouth.

Bobby nearly lost it when he felt her hand down there. His need to feel Alex closer, to feel all of her, was rapidly taking over his brain. He shifter her weight, taking her legs in one arm, and her torso in the other—he lifter her up with ease and started down the hall. Bobby watched her face, and when he saw apprehension flit over her face, he stopped at the foot of the bed. His erection was becoming unbearable, and he wanted her so badly he ached all over—but if she was not ready to take this step, he was not about to force her. He loved her too much for that.

 Alex saw the sudden flash of fear in his eyes. He was scared of scaring her—scared of hurting her. He wanted to know if she was okay with this. _Are you?_ He let her legs drop until she was standing pressed against him, his arms protectively around her as his eyes pleaded with her to let him in. And Alex realized he wasn’t just asking for her to let him make love to her—he was asking her to come back to him, to have their soul connection safely nailed back down within her own soul just as he was reinforcing it within his. The sheer meaning of it all struck Alex for the first time, Deakins was right. Goren had been in a different hell this whole time—a Hell in being without her. She was much more than just a touchstone or grounding line to him—she was the other half of his being. And he, not surprisingly, was the other half of her.

 Alex pulled Bobby’s head to hers, resting his forehead against her bruises and cuts. She stared intently into his eyes, and as the answer crystallized in her eyes along with the tears, they both smiled. They had found each other.

 Bobby couldn’t hold back any longer, and captured Alex’s mouth again with blinding force. He worried only for a second when he heard her gasp, thinking maybe he’d hurt her. But when she wrapped her fingers into his hair and wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him to her…he didn’t worry anymore.

Alex broke the embrace long enough to work his sweater over his head. Her mouth formed a ‘o’ of admiration at his muscular, heaving chest. Bobby couldn’t help the shy little-boy grin when she looked up from his chest and smiled at him. Then he took his turn, slowly—agonizingly slowly removing her shirt. He drank in the creamy expanse of her skin, as she lay back onto his bed.

Bobby’s mouth planted kisses along her neck, reveling in the gasps he elicited from her when he hit her sweet spots. He expertly undid her bra, leaving the fleeting thought in Alex’s mind that while he did have amazing fingers, he’d probably done that a few more times that she’d thought. When his mouth closed around her breast, all thought left Alex for good—and she writhed under his bulk as he gently suckled her nipple. Her hands were gripping his tight shoulders, almost to the point of scratching—when he made his way down her stomach and began undoing her jeans. Alex stilled somewhat, allowing him to pull her jeans and panties off in one pass, yet he still kept one hand and his mouth on her skin. _THAT takes some skill_, she thought.

Bobby was a man who liked to explore a woman’s body—make it as pleasurable for her and it was for him. And being such a tactile man, Bobby used his senses of touch, smell, and observation in all other aspects of his life—it just came to reason that he would use them in making love. Alex nearly giggled at that thought.

 

Suddenly he pushed her further up the bed and crawled over her. Alex was little and completely naked beneath his enormous bulk, and that feeling tickled the macho-masculine side of Bobby’s brain. There was just something about being a big, strong guy, encompassing your petite love with you sheer size. Bobby guessed millions of years of evolution didn’t breed out the entire animal out of a man; he smiled into Alex’s neck. Her body felt so right under his—he let his finger explore her pelvis finally reaching the soft curls of her womanhood.

Alex was in ecstasy as Bobby felt over the warm wetness of her core with one hand, and the other was furiously working his own pants off. Alex sucked on his neck and wondered if he was just going to pull and Incredible Hulk and bust out of those jeans—they _had_ to be constricting the shit out him.

Alex kicked the covers down as Bobby slide with an unnatural grace on top of her again. When his hand went down to rest between her legs again, Alex decided to turn the tables. Even with her battered body, she managed to sling both legs around Bobby’s waist—which must have surprised him because he stopped stark still. She rubbed her wet core up and down his rock hardness—and smiled as a gravely groan rumbled through Bobby’s chest.

She arched her back pressing her hips into his—he turned his head to meet her eyes. Alex’s face was flush with passion and love, Bobby didn’t think he’d seen a more beautiful sight. That is, until he slowly pressed himself into her. Her eyes closed and her head arched back. Bobby drank in the sight and he fought to control the animal need within. He pressed further inside—the feeling like warm silk and honey exploding through his body.

  Alex gasped trying to pull him in deeper. He filled her like nothing she could have imagined, and he was pushing in an out slowly—as if he was afraid he’d tear her up. But Alex was nearing the point of lightning and explosions, so she sunk her nails into his shoulders and thrusted her hips as hard as she could manage under his considerable weight.

 Bobby gasped this time—he cradled Alex’s head and shoulder in his right arm, both their weight supported on his elbow on the bed, and reached down to grab her ass with the other hand. Sometimes it really helped to be a big, long armed beast of a man. Most of his weight was on his knees and his right elbow, so he was in essence, leaning on top of Alex as she lay on her back on the bed and in his arms—pulling her into his thrusts.  With this added leverage, he could pound harder and deeper than before. Alex felt the pressure of his weight as he leaned forward, raising the lower half of his body up on his knees and using the arm under her shoulders as a brace while the other arm supported her hips, pushing them viciously into his.

 As the thrusts came harder and faster, Alex could feel his lower abdominals tensing for release. She could feel his slick hardness inside and it was the best feeling she’d ever experienced. She opened her eyes to find Bobby staring down at her with all the love and desire he could express. Suddenly, the world seemed to stop around them. There was no screaming, no biting or flailing about. They climaxed together, as Bobby felt the release coming he scooped Alex’s head and shoulders up in that one arm, bringing her face to his. Alex latched on, the pleasure of the climax bringing tears to her eyes, but she did not cry out.

They stared into each other’s eyes, the sound of their hearts pounding through their chests—the sweat dripping from Bobby’s brow and the soft tunes of Nora Jones in the back ground. Alex could feel him filling her up inside, liquid warmth and power. They continued to hold each other’s gaze as Bobby laid her down on the pillow in gasping bliss.

Bobby came to rest on his elbow, still hovering over Alex’s face. Reluctantly he pulled his softening cock out of her, but only after he allowed himself to savor the warmth of her soaked core.

Alex closed her eyes, a soft smile gracing her lips. Bobby’s mouth quirked a half smile and he leaned in to her face. Gingerly he ran a finger over the bruise under her eye and sighed. Alex caught that finger, and brining it to her lips, kissed it softly. Again her eyes told him not to let his mind travel down that dark path of guilt again. Bobby smiled a little wider, his eyes gleaming and brought his mouth to her ear.

“Don’t ever leave me again.” In answer to his whispered plea, Alex took his face in both hands and pressed a firm, serious kiss on his lips.

“Never. Thank you for holding on, Bobby,” she murmured against his head.

 That night they slept just as Bobby imagined they would—Alex on her side, curled into a ball—and Bobby spooned up as close as he could get to her warmth, his huge arms protectively encircling her.

When a nightmare entered Alex’s mind during the night, making her twitch and whimper as the fear welled up again, Bobby was right there with her, fighting the monsters for her.

And if she pushed away even just a little from him in her sleep, Bobby would hold tight—and pull her much closer.

 

**END**


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